Fate's Favourite
by The Fictionist
Summary: You always get the stories where Harry goes back into Tom Riddle's time, then either stays or gets sent back. End of, unless he tries to make Voldemort good. But what if thing's went differently? What if, just once, someone followed a time traveller back?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: So, I'm re-writing Fate's Favourite. I'm replacing it as I go, so sorry if it seems really weird. =/ Hope you like it. _

Prologue and Chapter One

Harry stared down at the Gryffindor table, ignoring the looks that the Staff and other students were sending him. It was the opening feast and he looked different, he knew it. He looked different and he acted different. How could he not?

It had been a bizarre summer - even by his rather messed up standards. Time Travel. He'd just spent a year in 1943 - Tom Riddle's fifth year at Hogwarts. The year before everything changed, with the Chamber of Secrets and the rise of the Dark Lord…not that Tom hadn't been Dark Lordish. He was, most definitely at times.

He wasn't Voldemort though. Harry could see that now

. He smiled slightly wistfully to himself. It was inconceivable that he could spend a year as Harrison Evans, the other half of the Slytherin Duo, and not change. It wasn't the kind of change that could be explained though. Ron and Hermione could sense that he was different, but he didn't even know where to begin in explaining why. They would freak out, completely.

The running theory, from what he had gathered, was that Cedric's death had traumatised him big time. A slight shiver ran up his spine. That hadn't been particularly easy, he admitted it, but he wasn't broken by it. _He wasn't. _

"Harry?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"Hmm?" he looked up, forcing himself into attention and out of his own thoughts.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," he smiled, briefly. "I'm fine." He pushed another forkful of spaghetti into his mouth.

"You seem…different," she offered.

"Do I?" he replied blandly. "Good different or bad different?" he winked. She looked surprised for a moment. Confidence, another change, he knew. It was just that Tom had always demanded confidence, or at least a mask of it. It was part of being a Slytherin, you had to be the picture of confidence or the vultures would swoop and tear you apart.

Why was he even thinking about Tom? It was over. This was his time now, he would go crazy if he kept thinking about back there. Voldemort was still here.

"Just different," she hedged. He shrugged, sympathetically.

"People can change," he said softly. He had, and he'd hoped Tom wouldn't. He'd hoped so much…yet Voldemort still seemed to be here and Salazar didn't that feel like a shard of ice through the stomach? Unless Tom's universe had turned into an Alternative one, if such a thing even existed.

There would be another him, possibly, living with his parents. Tom would probably be the Minister of Magic by the time he was thirty. Harry's lips curved slightly. Zevi Prince would of course be a potions master who travelled the world showing off his crazy skills. He let the thoughts trail off. He couldn't dwell on that. He just couldn't. Now he just wished his heart would obey the logical aspects of his mind.

"I suppose so," Hermione agreed, studying him.

Before it would have made him shift and want to tell her everything, but after being under Tom's intense psyche out appraisals anyone else's scrutiny seemed rather pale in comparison. There he went again. Thinking about the _past. _It was just hard to adjust. He'd almost walked to the Slytherin table when they entered the Great Hall, and Malfoy's (as in Draco's) little witticisms only served to amuse him. He'd almost called him Abraxas, because damn they looked similar.

He ate another mouthful pasta. The sorting had finished, with several new additions to every house. He twisted his hands in his lap for want of something to do. It felt weird sitting here, surreal. It really shouldn't have, but it did. He almost wished he was back in 1943, which was ridiculous, because a large fraction of his time there trying to find a way back. Who knew that all he needed to do was get hit by a killing curse. It was just, he'd FINALLY accepted his place there, and now he was slammed back into his time.

Fate hated him.

With a vengeance.

They finished eating, as Harry tried to participate in the conversation around him to the best of his ability. Dumbledore rose to speak.

And a white glow grew in the centre of the room.

Everyone stared at it, in a mixture of terror and curiosity. Harry felt insides jitter. No, it couldn't be. That light…it was so familiar. The voices coming out of it were growing louder, like a train rushing down a tunnel.

"Are you sure it worked?" that was Alphard.

"Are you saying that Tom would have got it wrong?" And that was Lestrange - as sycophantic as ever. He got the oddest urge to burst into hysterical laughter as five figures formed in the middle of the hall. Alphard Black. Cygnus Lestrange. Abraxas Malfoy. Zevi Prince. Tom Riddle. Everyone gaped.

"What is the meaning of this?" Dumbledore demanded.

He saw Tom give the old man a glance over, his lip curling slightly at the multicoloured robes with bumblebees on them, then scan his eyes across the room before focussing on the headmaster once more.

"I'm looking for someone," Tom said. "Harrison Evans." There was a whisper of murmuring across the room. Harry bit his lip, the Slytherin Heir always did have a flair for dramatics. "You might know him as Harry Potter?"

Every murmur dropped instantly into silence, their eyes zooming onto his figure like a neon sign. He figured he might as well stand up and make it official. Tom smirked.

"So you are still alive then? Damn. I was getting so hopeful."

*** Fate's Favourite ***

Harry felt a grin slip onto his face.

"Nope," he replied thoughtfully. "You're still not funny. I'd give up on your dream of becoming a comedian…what are you guys doing here?"

"Looking for you," Abraxas offered. "Tom missed seeing your pretty little face around and decided he had to go hunt you down. Blatant favouritism, that's all I'm saying…"

Harry arched a brow slightly at the explanation. Tom rolled his eyes at him in response. Harry's grin widened.

"Aw, I always knew you'd miss me!" he quipped.

"It got boring," Tom said. "No one to hospitalise." Harry opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

"That was once," he scowled. Tom smirked.

"What's going on here?" Dumbledore demanded, sounding somehow both faint and forceful. Harry realised with a flash that they were still standing in the middle of the Great Hall.

"Harrison Evans is Harry Potter," Abraxas stated. "And we decided to take a leaf out of boy wonder's book and go on a futuristic, on in his case-"

"-Don't say pasteristic," Zevi muttered. "It's not a word!"

"-Pasteristic," Abraxas continued smugly, "holiday. Is that the sorting hat? Excellent, I presume you can get us some room in the Slytherin dorms?"

Dumbledore frowned slightly, a lack of twinkle in his eyes. Harry took the time to look back at the Gryffindor table.

Ron looked gob smacked, an odd shade of puce. Hermione seemed stunned. His eyes were drawn to Ginny, who's were fixed on Tom's in absolute horror. Her face was ashen. Harry felt a pang of sympathy. Crap. He hadn't thought of that.

"I'm not sure that would be possible," the headmaster said tightly. Tom smiled; charmingly, chillingly.

"Shall we go and seek accommodation elsewhere then?" he questioned politely. "Perhaps with my future self?" Dumbledore blanched at the implications and Harry frowned a little.

"How long have you been here, Tom?" he asked. Tom merely pulled an innocent look at him, before his expression changed and he strode over. Harry jolted as he was yanked into the aisle by his Gryffindor tie. Tom pushed him towards the Sorting Hat.

"Re-sort him," he ordered. The Hat blinked at them both, if a hat can blink. Although, Harry supposed that most Hat's didn't burst into song and mind read either… "Gryffindor," Tom said. "You've got to be kidding me. Damn, you really were the little light side lamb."

"I've already sorted him twice," the hat whined. "I'm not doing it again. He makes my head hurt." Harry glared at the rest of his Slytherins and they instantly wiped away their expressions of sympathy and agreement.

"Then just say Slytherin," Tom said flatly. "And you won't have to go anywhere near his twisted mind."

"Twisted mind?" he repeated delicately. "Coming from _you_?"

"Gryffindor," Tom replied, as if that was a point to make. "I suppose it's the hero complex-"

"-I don't have a hero complex!" he insisted.

"No," Lestrange said snidely. "You really do. It's pathetic."

"What?" Harry tilted his head, smiling. "Like you?"

"I'm not pathetic!" Cygnus hissed. Harry merely smirked, watching as the other got more and more agitated in his insistence.

That was how the accommodation got sorted.

Finally, maybe some half an hour and a couple of failed attempts to get the student populace to leave for their dorms, things got sorted.

The 1943 crew were given beds in the Slytherin dorms and schedules. Tom argued that they needed six beds, and Harry point blank refused to get resorted leading to Abraxas, Zevi and Alphard all exchanging bets and galleons.

At last though, everything official was pushed out of the way. The student body, previously restrained by the staff and curiosity to see how things would resolve, exploded in questions and chatter. Hermione had assured him that they _would _be talking in the common room - but for now she had first years to help in her role of Prefect. So did Ron. The other Weasley's had a distraught little sister to console. Harry felt slightly guilty for not going with them.

"Are you really THE Harrison's Evans?" A Slytherin, whom he vaguely remembered to be called Theodore Nott, questioned in a voice of awe.

"Hi," Harry said awkwardly. The present time Slytherin's were mostly staring at them all, forming opinions and schemes as they tried to mesh this new information into a plan of action.

"But, that means you're _Tom Riddle," _Nott murmured, his gleaming eyes giving away his careful posture.

"Are you perhaps related to Pollux Nott?" Tom questioned with a vague interest.

"He's my grandfather," Nott said. Tom nodded.

"Mm, you look like him," was all he said.

"Potter can't possibly be the same person as Harrison Evans!" Pansy Parkinson exclaimed, rather stupidly in Harry's opinion. "Evans is like…" she trailed off, a touch of colour appearing on her cheeks.

"I assure you, he is," Tom said coolly. "Parkinson is it?" Pansy looked down, subdued. Harry sighed. Tom had never much liked Cassius, her grandfather.

"Can you leave off building your little empire for one night? Jeez. You have a serious superiority complex," he said.

"It's not a superiority complex if he actually is better," Cygnus snapped defensively. "At least, he is to you. Tom, I implore you to let me teach Evans the meaning of respect!"

Tom looked faintly amused. Harry laughed, with a slight edge of cruellness that he was pretty sure he'd picked up from the Slytherin heir.

"Oh superior one," he gushed mockingly. "I implore you to let me teach Lestrange some tricks. I could even find some dog biscuits and collar - it would be adorable!" he fluttered his eyelashes. Cygnus looked furious, Zevi, Abraxas and Alphard were distinctly gleeful by contrast.

"Damn, it's good to have you back Harry," Alphard said.

Harry shook his head.

The interrogation continued.

Much later, at the teacher's firm insistence, the Slytherins (past and present) headed for the dungeons while Harry went to the tower. Now that he'd got over his surprise, his stomach was beginning to churn with the thought of what his friends would think.

He had yet to introduce his groups of past and present, and frankly, he didn't find that to be a bad thing at all. They could stay apart in his opinion and never actually talk to each other. Of course, it would be brilliant if they could get on…but he highly doubted they would.

There was a hush as he stepped through the portrait hole, only to be confronted by the grim, probing faces of most of Gryffindor. Ginny was on the sofa, with Fred and George's arms around her. He felt another shock of shame.

"Hi guys," he braced himself.

"Was there something that you forgot to mention, Harry?"

A/N: Any improvement? Or general comments?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Second chapter of the rewrite. Hope it's an improvement, or any good at all. Enjoy! 

Chapter 12:

Harry talked until his voice turned hoarse.

He told them about the Dementor attack, about blacking out with the sensation of getting his soul sucked out and landing painfully on top of Tom and Tom's cauldron a second later and 50 odd years before. He told them how he had been sorted into Slytherin, despite his pleads and about the Slytherin heir's ruthless curiosity, that ended up with them both hospitalised on Halloween Night.

He skimmed over many arguments and late night conversations (partially due to waking up from nightmares) and onto a vague acceptance that maybe the Dark Arts weren't the pure evil he had imagined them do be.

Most of the Gryffindors had gawped in outrage but he spoke before they could express their feelings of betrayal. He smiled slightly in relating several explosive 'debates' on Blood Purity, and how he had eventually convinced Tom that maybe Pure Blood didn't mean superior. He also decided it would be prudent to mention that Tom had persuaded him on the issue that muggleborns really should learn a bit about Wizarding culture and tradition before marching in and complaining about it.

He considered it a win, win.

Hermione had looked thoughtful at the suggestion, her eyes glittering with that old intellectual curiosity. He smirked to himself, knowing that Tom would soon be interrogated on his views by a Hermione on a mission. Oh, not straight away, but at some point those two were going to end up debating. It was practically inevitable. He could only hope that Tom would be nice to her. He doubted it though.

He touched on the rest of the year very briefly, only stating that they had grown closer and that no, the rumours were not true and he wasn't actually the young Dark Lord's lover. He came to an abrupt halt, before shrugging.

"That's about it," he concluded.

"He's still Tom Riddle," Ginny said, looking strained. "Harry, I trusted him too and look where that got me! He can act charming but he's a bastard!"

"A total one," Harry agreed. "When he wants to be." She seemed surprised that he actually conceded to the point.

"Then why are you friends with him?" Fred asked, folding his arms. "If he's such a git. I mean, c'mon - think about what he did to my sister!"

"That wasn't him," Harry said automatically. "Hasn't happened to him yet."

"Harry," Hermione sighed despairingly.

"I'm not in denial!" he continued quickly, staring at her. She appeared to remain unconvinced, but to his great relief didn't press the subject.

"This doesn't mean we have to like him, does it?" Ron asked finally.

Harry grinned.

He trudged into the Great Hall early that morning - it was 7am - and breakfast had started. It was open from 7am to 9am. Classes started at 10 past 9.

None of his Gryffindor friends were up, but that wasn't particularly abnormal. Harry used to sleep late too, he still would, he was an early riser through established routine (Dursley's) and insomnia rather than preference. He glamoured himself, hiding the almost violently dark bags of sleep under his bloodshot eyes. It hadn't been a good night. It never was.

He entered the Great Hall to see Snape and Flitwick at the Staff table, and the hall mainly empty with only a scattering of Ravenclaws, a couple of badgers, a set of overexcited and nervous first year Gryffindors and several Slytherins.

Including his Slytherins.

Well, not his. But from his time. Crap. Not his time. The past - that was all he meant.

Tom and Zevi were among them. Zevi was just an early riser, he knew that, but Tom slept pretty normally when he bothered. Of course, Tom tended to be too busy to sleep with all of his insane experiments and schemes going through at once, but when he slept he slept peacefully. That meant that he was awake because of Harry then. He paused briefly on whether he was obligated to sit alone on the Lion table, before walking over and taking the seat on Tom's right.

"Coffee?" Tom smirked. He took the cup, waking up slightly at the tantalising smell of caffeine. It was at the perfect temperature. He loved magic.

"My hero," he murmured, taking a large gulp.

"And here was me thinking you might last a sentence before insulting me," Tom said dryly. Harry smirked. "Sleeping as terribly as ever then?" The Slytherin heir continued a little more gravely.

The smirk vanished, replaced by a shrug as he drank some more of his favourite drink… aside from the mango juice that Abraxas' house elves made - that was to die for. He noted that Snape and Flitwick were both staring at the three of them.

"Wow, I really missed my breakfast chit chat turned interrogation," he remarked sarcastically. Zevi coughed into his cereal and chopped bananas.

"Of course you did," Tom replied wickedly. "It means you get to spend time with _me." _Harry smiled slightly in amusement.

"Naturally Tom, that's EXACTLY what I meant," he drawled. "It's not just your insanely large ego talking at all." Tom laughed.

"Haven't lost any of your insolence in 50 years time then?" he replied, with something that may have been fondness on anyone else than Tom. "I'd have thought you'd have matured a little."

"What, and deprive you from the mental stimulation of my insults? Never! You'd be bored as hell," Harry retorted.

"I'm sure I'd find something to amuse myself if you decided respect wasn't too high an aim for you," Tom arched his brows. He didn't look irritated though.

"Nope," Harry decided thoughtfully, grinning. "I'm pretty sure it's too high an aim for me."

"Or that's your excuse anyway," Zevi commented. His grin widened. Tom shook his head.

"Remind me, why do I put up with you again?"

"Because I'm awesome,"Harry said promptly, before pausing. "And you fail at murdering me. But it's mainly because I'm awesome. Obviously."

"Obviously," Tom said, though Harry felt the other's gaze focus on him with an alarming intensity at the statement.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence.

Ron and Hermione entered some time later, their eyes scanning the Gryffindor table before snapping to him with the Slytherins.

Tom was studying them in an appraising manner. Harry just knew he was cataloguing everything about them in his eerily Holmesian way. His best friends hesitated a second, before Hermione's insatiable thirst for knowledge (almost as bad as Tom's) took over and she tugged Ron over by the sleeve. The rest of the Slytherins went absolutely silent.

"Hi Harry, we looked for you in the Common Room, but you were already gone," Hermione began nervously, seemingly not sure if she should be ignoring the Slytherin's or not. "Er, McGonagall asked me to give you your time table." She handed the sheet to him and he took it with a smile.

"Thanks Hermione," he said. He scanned the timetable briefly, ignoring the way he could sense Tom lean over to read it. She opened her mouth to speak again, but was interrupted smoothly.

"So you're Hermione," Tom mused, as if he wasn't already fully aware of it, his eyes flicking up from Harry's timetable. "And you're Ron Weasley?" Tom glanced at Ron with a slight curve of his lips. "Harry's best friends."

"Yeah, that's right," Ron said, rather aggressively.

"Tom Riddle," Tom held out a slender-fingered hand to shake. Ron didn't move, so Hermione tentatively shook his hand, her eyes widening slightly when Tom brushed his lips against her knuckles in the typical Pure Blood greeting.

Harry was instantly suspicious.

Ron began to look a little red faced.

"This here is Zevi Prince, Abraxas Malfoy, Cygnus Lestrange and Alphard Black," Tom introduced.

"Pleasure, I'm sure," Alphard greeted easily. Harry noticed the slight hidden grimace that tucked the corners of the Black's lips though.

"Granger?" Abraxas questioned. "Are you perhaps related to Dagworth-Granger?" There was a moment of silence.

"I'm a muggleborn," Hermione said in a proud voice, her chin jutting up slightly.

"Oh joy," Lestrange muttered. "Evans is a Gryffindor _and_ a mudblood lover. How did I guess?" Harry's eyes narrowed.

"Shut your mouth Lestrange," Ron snarled. "She's ten times the witch or wizard you'll ever be!"

"Someone's got a crush," Lestrange sang with a smarmy satisfaction. Harry could feel Tom's eyes on him and nearly frowned.

"Someone's -" he started venomously.

"-Now, now Lestrange," Tom cut in charmingly. "Let's remember our manners, whatever would your mother say to your deplorable lack of decorum?" Lestrange shot Tom a startled look, but fell deathly silent with a light flush staining his cheeks. Hermione watched Tom with a slightly puzzled expression.

Okay, Harry was definitely suspicious now.

"Excuse me," he said tightly. Damn it. Couldn't he have one day before his life started going to hell? He'd known it would be difficult to mesh his life as Harry Potter and Harrison Evans together, but he hadn't realised it would be this bad from day one!

"No, no," Tom waved a hand dismissively. "You and your friends can sit down," he said politely, before winking. "You can give us all the dirt on Potter."

Harry just knew it was all entirely false and knew that Tom knew that he knew too. Hermione looked uncertain, but not entirely convinced thankfully. Ron had a foul expression on his face.

"It's fine," the red head said, in as civil a tone as he could apparently manage. "We'll see you later, alright mate?"

"Yeah, awesome, I'll be with you in just a sec," he said.

Harry waited until they had sat down at the Gryffindor table before glaring at the Slytherins, and specifically Tom.

"What?" the young Dark Lord asked innocently, his eyes glittering.

"You know what," he replied. "Whatever you're scheming, I swear to god you better keep my friend's out of it."

"Sounds rather threatening, doesn't he?" Tom asked the others, lazily. Harry ground his teeth in frustration.

"I'm serious." Tom looked up at him, his head tilted to one side with a distinctly predatory air.

"I gathered," he replied. Harry slammed his coffee down, getting up to sit with Ron and Hermione. In a instant, Tom had grabbed hold of his wrist, just tight enough that it was uncomfortably firm.

"Relax will you? Your little pet lions are safe from me. I have no interest in _them_, nor does their mutilation benefit me in any way exept momentary amusement."

"That supposed to reassure me?" he asked, raising a brow.

"Scouts honour, golden boy. Now go and catch up with your friends. I'll see you in DADA."

Tom released his wrist with a slight sting as his nail cut in, drawing a minute dot of blood.

"You know, you're not a boy scout either," Harry said.

Tom merely smirked at him.

Salazar. He was doomed.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own Harry Potter, of course I do - can't you tell from the writing style? I mean, it's not like it's completely different to JK's or anything. She clearly just stole the whole idea from me, I'm not just toying with her character. However, due to legal reasons,, if you see anything in this chapter that is recognisable, it is hers or paraphrased from the Order of the Phoenix book. 

Chapter Three

Ron and Hermione, along with the rest of the Gryffindors, were eyeing him warily as he sat down - still cradling his cup of coffee.

"Sorry about that," he muttered. "Ignore them…they're…"

"Baby Death Eaters?" Ron offered. Harry shot the red head a look, before conceding with a wry grin.

"And rather temperamental."

They were still staring at him. So was everyone else; when they weren't gawping at the time travellers. Snape and Dumbledore seemed particularly intent in their observation. Snape's face was twisted into a stony composition, unyielding to any slip of emotion that may shed light on his inner most thoughts. Tunnel black eyes were fixed on him, unwaveringly, with only the slightest glances directed at Tom and Zevi in turn.

Harry tried to enjoy breakfast and the company of Ron and Hermione the best he could under the scrutiny. His nerves were growing fraught though. He couldn't wait for lessons to begin. Which, he soon discovered, was saying something.

A pink, dumpy toad-like woman had rose at the staff table, requesting silence. At breakfast. Nobody made announcements at breakfast, although, he supposed the normal routine of opening feasts had been warped last night so the woman hadn't really had the opportunity. Still. Who was she to be making speeches anyway? She was the new DADA teacher - she had to be. Surely whatever she had to stay could wait for her first lesson?

Which, incidentally, was the first lesson of the day. Gryffindor's and Slytherins. Why was it that those two houses were always paired for the most volatile subjects? DADA, potions, flying…it was like someone was looking to make sparks fly. He sighed softly as the room fell into a slightly bewildered silence.

"Hem hem," the professor coughed, smiling with a saccharine sweetness.

"Well, I must say that it is simply lovely to be back at Hogwarts, and see such happy little friends," her voice tightened barely noticed. "Even though it seems that certain procedures have changed." Her eyes swept over the time travellers edgily. "I hope that we can all be the best of friends, I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all," she smiled. Some students looked away from Harry for the first time, blessedly, to exchange barely concealed smirks and grins.

"I'll be friends with her if I don't have to borrow her cardigan," Parvati whispered to Lavender; leaving them both to lapse into silent giggles.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed through careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations lest we lose them for ever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching."

Umbridge paused to make a little bow to the other teachers, none of who showed any inclination to return the gesture. Harry saw McGonagall and Sprout exchange significant looks, and glanced at Tom, who's expression was unreadable. The toad continued.

"Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for the sake of progress must be discouraged."

Harry felt his blood run cold. Oh no. Ron looked like he was drifting into sleep, his cheek slipping against the palm it was propped against. Hermione looked outraged. The students were all breaking into murmured conversations, and those that didn't remained glassy-eyed. She droned on much to the same vein.

"…intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning where we find practises that ought to be prohibited."

She sat down. Dumbledore clapped, the staff and the students followed. Harry felt a surge of hatred and disgust swell in his chest at the pink clad women. Ron seemed to prop to attention as breakfast slowly continued, though there was now little time left for eating.

"What was that all about?" he mumbled around his bacon. "Did either of you get a word of that? It had to be about the dullest speech I ever heard and I grew up with Percy."

"I think that was the point," Harry muttered darkly. "Students are notorious for not paying attention." For a moment, they both looked at him like he'd grown two heads. He realised that a year ago he would have zoned the whole lecture out as tedious waffle.

"It means, Ronald," Hermione explained through gritted teeth, though she still looked slightly caught off guard. "That the Ministry are interfering with Hogwarts."

He, Ron and Hermione stood outside the Defence classroom. There was a low mumble among the students, that grew hushed as the time travellers approached.

Tom looked rather grim, though Harry figured he might have been imagining it or projecting his own emotions on the other. Tom didn't have as much reason to loathe Umbridge, she seemed to follow the same line of exclusivity for magic as he did. Their eyes met for a moment, but before either of them could speak that annoying, breathy voice called them into the classroom. Tom reached over to snag his arm, yanking him over to the 'Slytherin side' of the room. Ron looked disgruntled. Harry raised his eyebrows. Umbridge was eyeing them both, her lips pursed.

To prove a point, he did sit with Tom, but he made sure they were near the centre of the room and hailed Ron and Hermione to sit in on his other side. He wasn't sure if they looked relieved to not be ditched or unnerved at being so close to the snakes. Tom's lips were curled slightly in amusement and something else.

"Wands away please," Umbridge requested, swishing her own stubby wand at the board. _Defence against the dark arts; a return to basic principles. _

Harry almost groaned aloud. Not to sound arrogant or anything, but he'd already done his OWLs, he'd trained excessively for a year, he did not need nor desire a return to basic principles. The lessons were going to be vaguely monotonous anyway, now they were going to be the new History of Magic minus the nap option.

Books by Slinkhard were passed around, and course aims appeared upon the board. He skimmed over the text without enthusiasm. Tom had the barest look of disdain of his face that said it all. Harry had a feeling that the young Dark Lord didn't even want to touch their books, let alone study them.

"I want you to read the first chapter, Basics for Beginners. There will be no need to talk."

There was a rustling of pages and he exchanged looks with Tom. Neither he, Harry nor, to Harry's shock, Hermione had even made a move to start the exercise. He didn't think he'd ever seen Hermione neglect to read a book when told. The situation was dire.

His best friend was regarding the professors fixedly, her hand in the air. Silence reigned. Tom was leant back, his eyes appraising the bookworm. For now, at least, he seemed content to see how this would play out in true Slytherin fashion. Harry took a different approach. A bad one, but after a morning of sleep inducing speeches, stress and staring, his temper was more than a little compromised.

"Hangman?" he asked Tom, offering a pen. Umbridge's gaze snapped to him. Tom shot him a reproving look, but his eyes sparkled with ill disguised mirth. The rest of the students all stilled, eager, finding the brewing storm to be a much more interesting subject of perusal than the text…no they couldn't even be called textbooks…murdered trees before them.

"Mr Potter," Umbridge began, simpering.

"Professor," he greeted in return, pleasantly, cutting her off. Her eyes hardened. His Slytherin's appeared both despairing, and highly entertained. Hermione was wide eyed, her hand still frozen in the air.

"Is there a problem?" the professor enquired, her voice definitely holding an edge now. He grinned, lazily.

"Not at all professor, why do you ask?"

"You are not reading," she stated. "Do you find the text too difficult?"

"Yes professor," he replied promptly. "I can't get past the turning pages part, professor. Every time I try I just get this lethargic feeling of doom and exhaustion - it's all just so pointless and boring you see. My self preservation will not allow me to follow your instructions, as it realises the futile incompetence of Slinkard would only drive me to suicide."

Ron was had a look on his face that suggested that he thought Harry had gone mad. Most the class was stifling giggles. Umbridge seemed as if she wanted to murder him.

"Detention," she snapped. Harry widened his eyes innocently.

"What for, professor? I was merely answering your question. I thought you were supposed to help us!"

"Insolence," she spat.

"Ah, yes, that," he mused cheerfully. "I suppose I was rather rude. Don't take it personally. I've been told it's my natural state of being. Well, maybe you should take it personally…." he picked the book up for the first time. "But it's fine, really. I can't discriminate you for being stupid enough not to be able to tell crap from a textbook. I've heard ministry teacher training is appalling…do they even have that?" He paused, scanning the class. "Does anyone know?"

"For a week," Umbridge added, her nostrils flaring. "How dare you -" she spluttered, before sucking in a breath, presumably to calm herself. "Read the first chapter everyone. The next person to speak shall join Mr Potter here in a week long detention."

"Potter Evans," he corrected in a helpful tone of voice.

"Two weeks!" she screeched. The class were muffling their entertainment, into sleeves and the murdered tress. Harry tilted back his chair, folding his arms, unspeaking.

He didn't pick up his book.

And the lesson passed.

Success.

A/N: Chapter three of the rewrite. Do you guys think I should post it as a separate story? Please tell me what you think (of the idea and the chapter - any improvement?)


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: Okay, another update upcoming. The updating might slow down a bit, I don't know. We'll see. Do you want this story to be focussed on Harry and Tom, Harry and the Slytherins, or have a bit of everybody? Do you want to see more of some characters or what? Any of Tom's POVs? Anyhow. Thank you so much for the reviews, they keep me writing my probably not so good stories. Complimented. - The Fictionist. _

Chapter 4

Scowling, in a terrible mood, he trekked the familiar walk to the room of requirement. He'd been neglecting his training. Stuck in the past, with no wish to associate with one's roommates, you ended up turning to other sources of entertainment. He did enjoy his training. Reading wasn't so bad once he got over his textbook fever either; though he doubted he'd ever read for pleasure. Nonetheless, he wouldn't let anyone else die for. No more Cedrics. Never again would he be helpless. It was also an excellent way to avoid hexing everyone around him…lions…into the hospital wing. Namely, one Ginny Weasley. How dare she? What, because he wasn't going around screaming that all Slytherins are scum, now he was on the dark side? She had no right. Yes, she had a reason to dislike Tom, but she didn't even give the rest of them a chance. She never gave any of them a chance. Then there was the whole speech about how he was betraying his parent's memories by being friends with his parent's murderer. Tom wasn't Voldemort. Not yet. He had the opportunity to try and prevent that. But no! he was now a traitorous death eater: was she forgetting who saved her in the Chamber? Salazar. It was all happening too quickly. As the windows started rattling, he knew he had to calm down. Training helped. He had time while waiting for Tom to turn up anyway.

There was never any point looking for Tom, they always ended up crossing paths eventually. As he'd quickly discovered in the past, it was avoiding the other boy that was the problem. The future dark lord would know where to find him. They often ended up sparring, training together or mock duelling each other - despite everyone else's protests otherwise, it was mock duelling. The other's just didn't understand that just because they were trying to curse the spit out of each other, it didn't mean they were seriously arguing. Frankly, if their conflicts ever escalated to that level…it wasn't worth thinking about. Eventually, everyone had got used to them dragging each other, bloody and half-dead, to the hospital ring. It was strangely exhilarating, duelling Tom. Challenging, like so little things seemed to be. He probably had a death wish. Truth be told; he had never really tried at school. He didn't want the extra attention of actually doing higher than average, and he didn't want to outshine Hermione and lose wrong. He could already envision Tom blowing up at the fact he wasn't getting straight O's and E's. Whatever.

"How did I guess?" Tom walked calmly into the come and go room, easily ducking the instinctive curse fired his way. Bastard should have known better than to walk in on him without warning. A row of animated golems were rapidly destroyed. The wall behind Tom was scarred with a deep, ugly gash.

"You're psychic,' he replied, letting his magic settle once more.

"You discovered my deepest, darkest secret: I may have to kill you."

"Yeah? How's that working for you?" he scoffed. Tom frowned at his flippant tone.

"Keep talking and you'll find out,' he returned. Harry merely rolled his eyes. That was a new one. Tom transfigured his training ground into a replica of the snake's common room. They both sat down. There was a moment of silence.

"So, you think the name Lord Voldemort is ridiculous?" Tom stated conversationally.

"I almost had a heart attack when Abraxas said that," he admitted.

"I noticed," Tom smirked. There was a moment of silence. "Come on then?"

"Huh?"

"Pardon," Tom corrected automatically. "You think it's such a ridiculous name, you come up with a better one."

"Why? I'm not the one planning on becoming a mass-murdering psychopath," he raised a brow. Tom shot him an evil look. Any lesser man would have cowered. He merely grinned.

"Are we done?" he asked finally, when no answer seemed forthcoming. Tom's eyes narrowed.

"I swear you used to be tolerable," he said irritably. "You've spent too long with the Gryffindors."

"I am a Gryffindor. The tie says so."

"I'm going to burn that bloody tie," Tom muttered darkly.

"I thought it was the Sorting hat's fault?" He commented mildly. There was a moment of silence, intense, when Tom gave him a look.

"I can burn that too if you like?" he asked sarcastically. He didn't reply, causing Tom to look up again. The dark lord to be made an exasperated noise. "Okay. That's it." To his slight alarm, Tom's wand appeared by his throat. He tilted his head back fractionally, away from the smooth wand. How? Stupid, unpredictable fast-moving snake. Involuntarily, he inched back in the chair. Yeah, just because Tom wasn't all that intimidating (to him, anyway) didn't mean he was comfortable with the position. He hated the hospital wing and, frankly, wanted to avoid it.

"What did I do?" he asked cautiously. Why was it always him? His scar was burning painfully.

"The Gryffindor I could tolerate - Salazar knows you have a big enough hero complex to be sorted there. The mudblood and the blood traitor, again, expected. But _this? _Please, tell me now if I'm wasting my time here?"

"That would depend on what you're trying to accomplish?"

"_Harry."_

"_Tom," _he mimicked. Tom's expression was a classic. If it wasn't for the yew at his throat, he might have laughed. What was going on? He wasn't aware that he'd done something…deliberately…to annoy the older Slytherin. Nothing more than his usual back chat anyway.

"I am not here to associate with Dumbledore's golden boy, nor the light's hero. Either, everything I knew about you was a fabrication, and bearing in mind who that connection of your's is with, I doubt that I was mistaken. Which means…something's wrong."

"You think something is wrong, so you stick a wand to my throat?" he asked incredulously.

"No, the wand is because you're a slippery, lucky fool who has a bad habit of getting out of situations and evading questioning."

"Says he.""Harry!"

"Look, it's none of your business."

"It is when your brooding his giving me a migraine."

"Now you know how I feel…do you mind removing that wand now?"

"Sure…once you tell me what's bothering you." "Since when did you care?"

"Since I had to watch your funeral. Ministry run, by the way."

"Ouch.""Hmmm. Talk."

"No."

"Legilimens."Stupid dark lord.

_AN: Not happy with this chapter. Not happy at all. Might work on a prequel instead? Delete this/hiatus it and come back one the prequels done? Your call. _


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: Thank you for all the reviews and the feedback, it's always nice to get encouragement and constructive criticism. I'll keep on working on this story for now, see this chapter. Then make you're decision if I should just scrap and revise or make a prequel instead. Thanks - The Fictionist. _

Chapter 5 (Tom's POV)

Harry's eyes widened, the shining emerald darkening with pain. It was his own fault for being so bloody evasive. There was only so much insolence he could stand. A girl. Red hair. Screaming. A dozen flashing images in his head. A female Weasley. Ginny? Was that the girl's name? He shifted his grip, aware that Harry could only take so much - he would collapse sooner or later. His face had paled, the normally tan skin seemed waxy and ashen in face of the mental attack. He felt no remorse. He had given fair warning. Harry knew where he stood. A moment later, the mind link fell - blackening like tar. He let the connection fade; watching Harry's face carefully. That might have been a bit harsh. Harry had something fragile about him, something innocent that both his memories and his power belied. The so-called Gryffindor golden boy was far from innocent, he knew that, but the feeling was there. He wasn't sure if he wanted to protect the purity, or destroy it until all that what left was mesmerising darkness. With an inaudible sigh, he let his fingers slip from their choke-hold on the familiar raven locks. He would wake up presently. The irritating twit never stayed down for long. He didn't even die properly. It was so soon though. He hadn't envision the conflict displayed in those memories for at least a weak. It seemed times had changed, he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that his counterpart was the cause of that. He didn't feel guilty. Rolling his eyes at the smaller boy's unconscious state, he crouched down.

The flames echoing from the fire gave the room an almost eerie effect. It was calming, soothing. The shady darkness of the make-shift common room was especially welcoming after spending the day in the sunshine of the upper halls. You could never relax, knowing an eye, a scavenger, was always there - waiting to feast on weakness like a vulture on a corpse. The floor gave the appearance of coldness, icy and delicious, but the stones were warm. He loved magic. Not that he had all that much experience of dealing with the heat of the floor. No, he smirked slightly, that was other people. Impatiently, he checked Harry's condition. When would he wake up? What was the point of patience when you had the power to make events go faster?

'Enervate.'

To his credit, Harry was alert instantly - a curse ready on his lips. His eyes were narrowed and angry. Unperturbed, he raised a brow.

'Ginny Weasley, hmmm?' he asked. '_You had no right to do that.' _Harry's voice was tight and carefully controlled, his fury was restrained under layers of righteousness and goodliness. If he had a heart, it might have cracked a little. It was a pity, to see such talent hidden. He'd seen the boy, on the few occasions when the need for darker curses was present - it was beautiful to watch. The light side were ruining him. Dumbledore, the manipulative fool, was ruining him. He was a parseltongue for Salazar's sake! Was that not a sign? It was insulting that he be used so shamelessly. Everyone knew that he had first claim to everything - especially fellow parseltongue. Not to mention, he was the one with the connection. Not Dumbledore. Not the mudblood - and none of the Weasley cretins either. Him. Didn't that count for anything? Adding to the fact that, disregarding his complete lack of respect, Harry was admittedly excellent company…almost a, dare he admit it? Friend. He could actually find some intelligent conversation. Well, he used to find intelligent conversation. That god-damn mask! It seemed that in this time Harry was a light heart, and one of the worst of them. He acting like a Jock. His grades were mediocre, in short, he acted like light's savoir. That wasn't Harry. Any fool could tell.

'I had every right,' he replied. It was with some amusement, that he noticed Harry's rage at the comment. It was intriguing to watch him, the boy was truly a riddle. The emotions he held so clearly for the world to see were undeniably Gryffindor - but the way he expressed them was purely Slytherin. The defensive stance, the waspish voice, the hisses and the revenge - sweet and hot like chocolate fondue. Ah, he saw so much of himself in the boy. He had such potential. It was only a matter of time. He could work this, the arguments. If the light pushed Harry out, where could he go except the dark. Brilliant, but so simple. Of course, he had to be careful not to implicate himself in anyway. Harry was extremely loyal, but if you lost that loyalty, even once, it was gone forever. Sometimes, he couldn't decide if they were twins separated at birth (Harry obviously being the separated one, the idea of being a Potter was revolting) or polar opposites. It made for a fascinating study either way. He smirked.

'Are you really going to stand for her disrespect, her lies?' he asked. He was genuinely curious, but he didn't mind the potential knock-on effects either.

'What do you want, Tom?' Harry asked. He kept his features passive with expertise, choosing only to quirk his lips slightly.

'I want many things - some of which you are aware of.'

'Don't be coy. It doesn't suit you.'

'Teach me better then,' he retorted, knowing Harry would never take him up on the offer. He was too wary, too experienced to fall for such an enticing trap. No, with Harry, it was a different game entirely. It was a subtler, the moves required much more finesse, and much more ruthlessness. A paradox - but everything about them was a paradox, wasn't it? Still, he couldn't help but feel a slight disappointment when Harry shot him a look, before picking up his bags and walking away. The biggest thing about Harry? Neither of them ever had to pretend.


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: Aloha, thanks for all the story alert and reviews. Question, do you think I should continue this, or focus on Past's player (the prequel) ? Neither is slash, but I'm not doing any particular Harry pairing, so on your own head be it on how you choose to view it I suppose. Thanks again. _

Chapter 6.1

Harry bit his lip, walking down the familiar corridor to the Gryffindor common room. His head was pounding. Tom made his head hurt in all ways possible - literally, figuratively and metaphorically. He was just so…confusing. He was more dangerous than Voldemort would ever be, more of a threat. He was saner, subtler and a genius. The worst thing of all? You could forget what he was. He could make you care. Harry shut his eyes tightly, feeling off balance. Slightly shakily, he stumbled up the steps into the circular Gryffindor dorm. His bed. Crimson hangings, his trunk, his one shot at peace. Except, a bed was no longer sanctuary. Not with the dreams. The nightmares. Every night. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed under the duvet, wrenching the curtains around his bed shut. The light from outside eclipsed, soothing his eyes and his head. The duvet was cold. He plumped the pillows slightly, a scowl on his face. Then he let his eyes close.

_____

He was up early the next morning; so early. It must have been about four am. Harry knew he would sleep no more. With a sigh, he pulled on some clothes, heading to the room of requirement.

___

'You're friends are looking for you.'

Harry tilted his head at the familiar voice of Zevi Prince. The ashy-haired teenager stopped next to him, pausing to lean next to him on the wall. They were outside potions, the walls were gloomy, cast in shadow. Winter always made the dungeons darker.

'Hmmm,' he said in reply. Zevi grinned at him.

'Eloquent as ever, I see.'

'Shut up, Zev,' he snapped mildly, not really all that bothered. There was a moment of silence.

'You seem close,' Zevi noted.

'We are,' he sighed. 'Or we were, I'm not really sure how we stand now.'

'Tom will kill me for saying this; but don't push them away,' Zevi imparted, his expression unreadable.

'Tom?' he questioned. 'What does he have to do with it?' Zevi looked a little annoyed now.

'Don't be so oblivious Evans. You really think my lor- _Tom _- travels through time for most people?' he snapped. Harry's head shot up.

'I suppose you can't elaborate?' he asked. Zevi had always been his ally in his constant power plays with Riddle, perhaps with some reluctance, but an ally all the same. He would always choose Tom though, if it really came down to it. All of them would.

'Ha! And risk Tom's wrath? You must be joking,' Zevi retorted dryly, confirming his thoughts. The conversation halted as more people arrived for the potions class - Tom included. The future Dark Lord gave them both a scrutinising look, but didn't comment. Zevi grabbed his arm before moving over to join the others. 'Just be careful, okay?'

___

'Harry!' a voice called behind him. He inwardly flinched, then, steeling himself, turned.

'Are you going to tell me what's going on between you and Prince?' Tom asked, coming to a halt in front of him. He pretended to consider it.

'No.'

'I'll go find Zevi then,' Tom held his gaze for a moment, his eyes challenging. He merely raised a brow, calling the future Dark Lord's bluff…when Tom shrugged and walked away, he began to curse his hero complex. He doubted Zevi would do all too well in the face of Tom's interrogation methods.

'Riddle,' he called softly. Tom turned, looking slightly smug. He barely refrained from rolling eyes. Very deliberately, he walked over, only stopping when he was looking the older boy right in the eye.

'He merely informed me that my _friends _were looking for me.' He smirked slightly at Tom's expression, then once more, walked away. Oh he loved messing with Tom's head. It was so much fun.

'Your lack of trust in my offer of friendship is wounding,' Tom yelled after him.

'How will you ever recover?' he mocked lightly, not looking back.

'Shut up, chosen one!'

'Touché Tommy boy, touché.'

_This fic isn't really going all that well. I have the ideas but I'm having trouble linking it together into a story without it being a series of events. Might hiatus and work on PP? What do you think? Anyone want to collaborate/and/or offer some thoughts?_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Well, here goes, fingers crossed that this is marginally better? Thanks for the reviews. Tell me what you think - The Fictionist. _

Chapter 7

Harry sat in the common room, his eyes dull and his mind many miles away. Despite his initial happiness in seeing his 1949 crew again, he wasn't sure if them following him back was an entirely good thing. In the nicest possible way: he didn't trust them.

He was seeing even less of Ron and Hermione…they were his best friends, he could tell when something was bothering them. The Slytherins were starting to severely tax their patience reserves. How was this ever going to work out?

The rest of the house, barring certain individuals, were starting to turn hostile too. Ever since that trip to the past he hadn't been able to mesh with them, tolerate their quirks, as easily as he had done previously. He grown accustomed to the (relative) privacy of Slytherin. Now, everyone wanted a piece of him. It was first year all over again! everyone stared.

Sometimes he wondered what the hell Tom was thinking when he followed through time and space…okay, just time, but the space bit sounded good. Zevi was right about that - Tom didn't do go through time for most people. To be honest, Tom only did things that benefited Tom. Which led him to wonder what the latest scheme was? Perhaps, perhaps it was time for the "golden trio" to do some investigating again. He still couldn't believe people called them that. Step one: annoy Tom as much as possible and divulge his intentions.

___

'Harry,' Tom walked over, leaning against the Gryffindor table. Hermione's eyes widened at how fast he reacted. Ron merely looked a little smug, but he was stifling the expression in accordance to the plan. Ah, he loved his friends.

'Tom,' he mimicked, not looking up and helping himself to some more toast. He looked at Ron and Hermione. 'So are you coming to the pitch later, on?' he asked absently.

'Do you really have to ask, mate?' Ron replied with an easy grin. The redhead moved to take some more bacon, prompting Hermione to whack him with her book.

'Do you ever stop eating?' she demanded. Harry smirked, shaking his head. They both exchanged a look.

'Stupid question Mi, stupid question.'

'Harry,' Tom's voice had turned colder. He still didn't look up though.

'Hi - you do know you've already said my name once?' Ron almost choked on his pumpkin juice, causing the Dark Lord to be to send him a scathing look. Hermione started to look a bit nervous when Tom's magic started bubbling.

'_Stop ignoring me._'

'I'm not,' he replied calmly. 'If I was ignoring you I wouldn't reply, would I?' By now, half the school were watching their confrontation. Abraxas and Draco were sitting together, frozen mid speech and Zevi had a long-suffering look on his face. So did Snape. It was actually quite a creepy resemblance. Ha! they were both eating Rice Crispies and chopped banana. Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling in a manner that was far from good and Theodore Nott appeared to be in awe at witnessing one of their "legendary" conflicts.

Tom's eyes had narrowed, flicks of red appearing among the frosted violet. His aura had pooled around him in his irritation.

Suddenly, the aura vanished, replaced by a singularly beautiful smile.

'Do you honestly believe that tactic is going to work? I don't fall for the same trick twice.' Damn. He figured it out. Oh well.

He shrugged. 'Voldemort falls for it every time…it's incredibly amusing.'

'Lord Voldemort,' Tom deadpanned, seemingly unable to kick the habit of correcting him.

'Yeah. Him. Snake-faced, red-eyed? your megalomaniac, insane future self?'

'And you wonder why most of the dark side want you dead.' He just realised what he was doing, and inwardly cursed. No banter! keep it more formal. It was so tempting though.

'Do you honestly believe that tactic is going to work? I don't fall for the same trick twice.'

'No?' Tom smirked. 'Funny that, because you fall for the whole hero-complex, saving people bait every _single _time.' Silence. Damn.

'I do not have a hero-complex.' Tom patted his head mockingly. 'Of course you don't Potter, of course you don't.' Then he walked away. He exchanged a grimace with Ron and Hermione.

Well, that one backfired.

___

He sat in the back of the Defence classroom, bored out of his mind and staring listlessly at the glossy pages of Slinkhard's…you couldn't even call it a defence book. It was useless. He sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the - pink! - ceiling. Salazar, Umbridge made him want to vomit.

'Mr Potter,' she cooed immediately. He moved his gaze slowly from the ceiling, to a much less interesting figure. The women trotted across the classroom, clutching her vile pink handbag to her loathsome pink coat. 'Is there a problem?' It was that horrible, sugary voice that did it.

'There's nothing in here about actually learning defensive spells?' he questioned coldly. He saw her eyes bug out.

'Using them? you mean? I don't see why you would need to use spells in my classroom.'

'That would be the point of a magical education, to learn,' he replied.

'Harry!' Hermione moaned, giving him a warning look. He met the toad's face squarely.

'You are learning in a risk free, ministry improved environment Mr Potter - unless you think that you know better than the ministry?'

'A five year old,' he said slowly. 'Would know better than the ministry.' Her face twisted, her voice rising into a high pitched squeal.

'DETENTION!'

'For asking a question?' he knew he was pushing his luck. But the whole time travel/Voldemort/incompetent teacher mixture had him on edge. Venting felt good.

'For disobeying the ministry,' she whispered, calmer now.

'The ministry are a bunch of fools.' Tom. Wow.

'Detention to you too, Mr Riddle,' she simpered. The death eaters all made to stand up, only to stop at Tom's sharp look.

'Can I call my lawyer on this?'

'A muggle can't possibly work our world, my dear.' Oh dear. Strike three. She was out.

'What about squibs?' Tom taunted. 'Because in that case you really aren't fit to teach us.'

Burn…

Umbridge's pencil snapped in her hands.


	8. Chapter 8

_AN: Well, here goes. Enjoy - The Fictionist_

_Question of the update; if you went to Hogwarts, what Hogwarts house would you be in?_

Chapter 8

The hag.

Blood dripped down his wrist: I must not disrespect my superiors. How even the ministry hired her…pain shot up his hand.

'Is there a problem, Mr Potter?' that sickly, saccharine voice simpered.

'This is illegal,' he bit out. She leaned over the desk, straightening her utensils in an obsessive manner. The cats hissed from the walls. The whole office was pink, awful and pink. Just like her. He wanted to claw something. She smiled sweetly.

'And who are you going to tell? Your parents?' Ouch. His blood pounded, frozen in his veins with pure hatred. The worst thing was, she had a point. Who could he tell? He was an orphan and the freaking chosen one…he couldn't afford to be shown as weak. Slytherin had taught him that much. No. This was his problem. Her smile widened. Stupid toad.

'What about Tom?' he dared. Her eyes glinted, rather manically.

'Mr Riddle is cleaning the second floor. Without magic.' Ah. The whole second floor? That was barbaric. Then again, so were blood quills. He looked down at his wrist, gripping the quill tightly between his fingers.

'How many lines?' he asked tightly. Her grin seemed to spit her face.

'As long as it takes for the message to…sink in.' Funny. If it were at all possible her comedic skills were worse than her teaching. It was a close competition though. He continued writing, refusing to flinch. He couldn't give the bitch the satisfaction. Her pudgy, stubby and ringed fingers clamped onto his shoulder. Her breath smelt sugary and foul. 'I'm doing this because I care. Deep down. You know you deserved to be punished.'

Care. Right.

Well, so long as no one found out.

'I will take you down,' he promised pleasantly. She blinked.

'Detention for threatening a teacher.'

'Looking forward to it already.'

He was glad to see her good mood had soured.

She so totally deserved it.

The demon in pink.

____

'What did the bitch have you do?' Ron asked sympathetically, his ginger hair Gryffindor red in the soft glow of the fire. They had nabbed the best seats by the fire. Harry shrugged, faking nonchalance and ignoring Hermione's shrill "Ronald!"

'Just lines,' he said, not even lying.

'Oh. Well, that's not too bad,' Hermione said, peering at him. Her warm, chocolate brown eyes were soft with worry, cancelling out any annoyance her - perhaps slightly - patronising tone had.

'Pity it wasn't worse,' someone muttered. His magic bubbled dangerously. He stood up, gripping his wand tightly in one hand. He spun round, instantly aware of who had spoken.

'Something you want to say, Mcclaggan?' he demanded.

The common room fell silent, thick with anticipation. It was strangely reminiscent to Slytherin. Except in Gryffindor, it was a blood lust for a physical fight, while in the snake pit it was the eager, blood thirsty sharpness of a scavenger waiting to devour the fallen. Physical verses political. He never thought he'd say that they both had their advantages and disadvantages. There was something exciting, complex and challenging in a political stand out that a mere fight lacked - politically it was about being smart and keeping one step ahead of your opponents. Gryffindor it tended to be who had the best curse or punch. Gryffindor was great though. Never call him anything but a lion in a snake skin, or a snake in a lions mane.

'No…'

'That's what I thought.'

He charmed his hand with a parseltongue glamour.

___

He sighed, in a foul mood and heading - once again - for the Room of Requirement. It was selfish of him, but he almost didn't want Ron and Hermione to know about the room. It was the only place, pretty much, in the entire castle where he could go to train and be in peace. Only Tom could find him there; and frankly, due to their bond, Tom could probably track him down anywhere so it didn't really matter. Summoning and enchanting several faux fighters to duel, he got stuck in. It was an amazing relief, dropping the golden boy restraints. Until he'd tasted Slytherin, anonymity (well…to a certain extent) and freedom he'd never realised how exhausting his act really was. Yes, it was true: he didn't always try his best in lessons, letting Hermione thrash him and generally acting exactly like a Gryffindor jock - no degrading the awesomeness of quidditch - but still. Everyone expected the chosen one to be amazingly brilliant, so the act cut down some of that pressure.

Not to mention, he didn't want to make Ron feel inadequate, or Hermione feel robbed of her one shining point of academic achievement. They were his best friends. Ron already had seven siblings to compete with; he didn't need the extra Harry gushing.

He felt, more than heard, Tom enter: the aura was unmistakeable. They never really spoke about it, but they always seemed to end up meeting in this room…around this time. He wasn't really surprised.

'How was the detention?'

'Great fun,' he replied sarcastically, demolishing the last of the golems. He turned round to face the Slytherin heir. 'What about you? Second floor sparkling clean?'

'I won't even ask how you come by your knowledge of everyone else's business,' Tom replied.

'Probably best,' he grinned. Tom shook his head, somehow managing not to displace a single hair on his head.

'I still can't believe their letting her teach, then again - Dumbles, ministry, what can you expect?'

'Dumbledore's alright,' he shrugged. 'Manipulative bastard, but he's well intentioned.' Tom shot him a look.

'I'm going to forget you said that.'

'Sure sure, you have the memory of an elephant Tommy dearest -' Riddle hissed lowly at the endearment - 'never forget and never forgive.'

'I'll have you know I'm a very forgiving person,'

Harry managed to last a couple of seconds before laughing. Tom smirked.

'Okay, concede, I'm a forgiving person if it suits me,' he amended.

'Better.'

'Harry?'

'Yeah?' he replied.

'Call me Tommy dearest ever again and I will rip out your tongue and feed it to you.'

They started to duel.

___

Halfway between a volley, they'd barely even gotten started, Tom stopped.

'Tired, already?' he taunted. Riddle's eyes were sharp and shrewd.

'You've switched hands.'

Oops.


	9. Chapter 9

_Parseltongue_

Chapter 9

'What?' Harry tried to bluff it.

Tom's expression told him quite clearly that he didn't buy it.

'You've switched hands…what happened?' he demanded. He edged backwards slightly as Tom walked towards him purposefully, one ivory hand stretched out. 'Let me see.'

Harry pulled his hand back defensively.

'I'm learning to become ambidextrous - I think it would be good for my duelling,' he lied, putting on a slightly indignant, but eager tone. Tom smirked.

'Good for you, then you'll have no problem with me seeing your hand?'

Damn. Busted.

'Why would I?' he inwardly prayed the glamour would hold. He held out his left hand, the one he'd been using. Tom's head tilted, his eyes glittering with curiosity and something more.

'Other hand, chosen one,' he said. Before he could pull his arm back, Tom's fingers shot out, wrapping around his right wrist and tugging. He could feel his magic buzzing under the future Dark Lord's g.

'_Don't forget who taught you parselmagic, Harry,' _Tom hissed chidingly.

He felt the glamour slip away from under his skin, revealing the marks of his detention. Silence.

___

'Umbridge?' Tom asked, his voice deceptively calm. Harry almost shivered at the pure, deadly menace in the Slytherin's voice. In that moment, he could quite clearly see how this teenager became a Dark Lord. His violet eyes had hardened, frosting over with a vicious conviction.

'Detention. Look, it's -'

'- if you say it's nothing I will probably punch you.'

'Only probably?' he quietened under Tom's glare.

'She could go to Azkaban for this, blood quills are illegal,' Tom continued quietly, a lethal satisfaction in his voice. Yup. Umbridge was screwed. She should never have messed with Tom. 'Although, I must admit that I'm curious on why you _didn't bother to tell me?_'

'It's not your business.'

'I'm going to kill her.' It was said in such a pleasant, conversational tone, that for a moment Harry was convinced that he'd misheard. Then he remembered exactly who he was talking to.

'I can fight my own battles,' he said stiffly. Tom raised a brow.

'I don't doubt it, however, I don't think you were planning to.'

'Well, we all know that thinking is a painful process for you, so I won't put much in store for what you think,' he snapped. It was a purely defensive retort. Tom was a genius, everyone knew that. He could look at a wall and tell you how many bricks there were a couple of seconds later. Riddle's grip tightened fractionally on his wrist. Tom didn't reply, seemingly ignoring him now. It was slightly irritating. He didn't know why, but it always got under his skin when Tom ignored him. Thank Salazar that it worked both ways. Tom loathed being ignored by him just as much.

'I must not disrespect my superiors,' Tom read. Harry could already see a dozen schemes growing and being discarded in the future Dark Lord's eyes. It was actually frightening how fast Tom's mind worked. He was, without a doubt, a much more dangerous enemy than his future counterpart. He was sane…well, to an extent. 'Why don't you heal it?'

There was a pause. 'Stupid question,' Tom contradicted himself darkly. 'That little golden boy, innocent act you have going, right?'

What could he say to that?

'How do you know that's not the real me, and that the whole Slytherin persona is just an act to infiltrate your inner circle.'

Tom shot him a look, patronising but amused.

'A) You just suggested it, B) You did your damn hardest to avoid me when we met.'

'Yeah, well -' he fell silent, not unable to think of a comeback. Tom smirked.

Then he pulled out his wand, fast: one minute it was in his pocket and the next in his hand.

'Whoa,' he reflexively jerked his wrist back. It didn't really work when Riddle was still holding on.

'_Easy,' _Tom hissed, stilling his hand for a moment, meeting his gaze. 'I'm just healing your hand. It's annoying me.'

Only Tom could get away with doing something on nice on the count that it was annoying him.

___

Harry winced as Tom stormed ahead of him, his aura entirely black and throbbing. He felt really sorry for Umbridge, and he didn't even like her. No, he loathed her. Which attested to just how much crap she was in for when Tom caught up with her.

'You're not going anywhere near her, do you hear me?' Tom ordered coldly.

'Pardon?' he said, pretending to be confused. The older Slytherin shot him a foul, warning look. He was muttering under his breath - threats, curses and the most painful ways to kill someone. It didn't bode well. For Umbridge, that was. If he was brutally honest with himself, he was quite looking forward to team-tagging her to pieces with Tom.

People parted as they walked, something he'd forgotten. Abraxas' eyes widened.

'What's going on?' Zevi demanded lowly. Cygnus took a different approach.

'What did you do, Potter?' he hissed, perhaps a little too gleefully. They joined the parade. Oh Salazar. Everyone was staring at them. He cringed a little, but with Tom literally dragging him down the hall there wasn't all that much he could do.

'What makes you think I've done anything?' he asked, slightly annoyed at the assumption.

'Harry,' Alphard said slowly. 'Tom's in a raging temper, and from my knowledge when something has happened to get Tom into a visibly raging temper, you are always part of it.'

He may have had a point.

They burst into the great hall.

Game over, bitch.

_AN: Aloha! Thanks for all the reviews and stuff. The problem with this fic is that I have the ideas, but I'm not sure how to connect them in a logical, detailed order. I don't have a Beta either. So, I was thinking of turning the story into a series of drabbles, regarding Tom and Harry and the whole story idea…what do you guys think? _


	10. Chapter 10 part 1

_AN: Aloha, thanks for all the reviews! Hope you enjoy chapter 10 part 1 of Umbridge's fall - The Fictionist. _

Chapter 10 part 1 (Tom's POV)

He stormed straight into the great hall, indifferent to how everyone's eyes locked upon them.

Umbridge was going to pay. Pity that in his fury he had got rid of the evidence…he just couldn't stand to see anything of that women on Harry. Hell, if Harry didn't carry his brand, he was most certainly not carrying anyone else's. Still, even without the physical evidence, this was a piece of cake.

He felt Harry draw back slightly, subconsciously trying to shadow into the background. His grip tightened as he stalked up to the hag.

"Do you have any last words, toad?" he hissed coldly. He was pleased to see her eyes bug in terror.

"I - What is the meaning of this?" she blustered. "I'm senior secretary to the minister, you can't talk to me like that."

"Yeah?" he dared icily. "Well I'm Lord Voldemort, so I suppose your right - you're not worthy of my conversation at all. But sadly, sacrifices must sometimes be made."

Her face went completely ashen.

"But - how, you can't be!" The toads face turned into a simper. "What is this about, my lord?"

Dumbledore stood up.

"Tom -" he began.

His eyes flashed, crimson red. He felt Harry wince slightly in pain as the connection between them activated.

"Were you aware of the illegality of blood quills, bitch?" he asked softly, effectively stopping the headmaster in his tracks. The wizened blue eyes widened.

"Harry, my boy?" Dumbledore asked, a firm expression came across his wrinkled features. "Is this really necessary? Why Don't you two sit down." Bad move. He literally felt Harry's restraints snap at the slightly patronising tone.

"Yes, it's necessary," Harry hissed. Magic swelled, Harry's magic, darkening to match his own. Annoy one of them, you had a death wish. Annoy them both - you just signed a warrant for hell. "Surely as a headmaster and supreme mugwump, you should recognise that?" the sneer was spot on. Dumbledore took a slight, surprised step back. They both smirked.

"I -" Umbridge was stammering now, seeming to realise the peril she had placed herself in. She smiled, a saccharine, sweet smile directed at him. Her piggy eyes flicked, frightfully, to Harry's hand and back.

The eager silence, the anticipation and the slight nervousness of the student body was palpable. She seemed to compose herself. "If you're truly he-who-must-not-be-named, why do you care about Potter's detention? He's the boy-who-lived? Didn't you know? "

"Careful, professor," Harry said quietly, venomously. "Or you might find that hole your digging for yourself turn into a grave."

"You'd go to Azkaban!" the hag had stood now, taking a step back away from them both.

He almost laughed, a vindictive satisfaction filling his insides.

"To answer your last question as a teacher," he said, watching her pale. "Yes, I know exactly who Harry is and the reason I care? Why don't you take a good look at our past interactions. I always said your ambition was the only way you got into Slytherin."

"Too stupid for Ravenclaw, to lazy for Hufflepuff and too much of a coward for Gryffindor," Harry elaborated with a small smirk. Umbridge's looked very, very nervous now. He liked it. A rush ran through him. This was how it supposed to be…now all he needed was for Harry to join the right side - his.

He saw the unspoken understanding glistening in her posture. Harry's life was his to take and his alone. No one else touched him. That was the way it had always been.

"This has all been a horrible misunderstanding," she tried.

Harry's wand raised, as did his.

"Did you know that thanks to your beloved ministry, it is a crime to be a death eater, punishable with a life time trip to Azkaban?" Harry asked pleasantly. He caught on immediately. It was brilliant. She should have known better then to threaten Harry with Azkaban.

With a slow, predatory smile he thought the incantation. _Morsmorde. _

Almost unnoticeably, he nodded.

"Diffindo," Harry said, loudly, for all the hall to hear.

The hag's pink sleeve ripped open, revealing the dark mark.

Umbridge's eyes widened.

"This - you can't do this!"

"I Harrison James Potter (Evans) Perevel Gryffindor, Lord and heir of the house of Gryffindor, relinquish you from the post of Defence against the dark arts teacher, and hand you, as a death eater and enemy of my own, to the Aurors," Harry said formally.

He added his own blow, his eyes dark - daring Dumbledore to intervene.

"I Thomas Marvolo Riddle (Gaunt) Perevel Slytherin, the true Lord and heir of the house of Slytherin, second this opinion. So mote it be."

A flash of light, black and white in colour filled the room, taking the hag with it.

Vengeance was sweet.

A shocked silence filled the hall.

"How appalling that the Light lord would let a death eater teach, shame on you Headmaster."

He couldn't resist the taunt, the warning. He could so easily sue Dumbledore for negligence.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"You just have to have the last word, don't you?"

"But of course."

A second later, the ministry representatives arrived.

Show time.

_AN: About the titles, it says in the books that Harry is the heir of Gryffindor through the Potter line, who are related to the third brother, who is a Perevel, who was a Gryffindor descendant. I just twisted that to make Tom Slytherin through Gaunt, to Gaunt being one of the other Perevel brothers. The Evans in Harry's name is referring to his alias. _

_I plead artistic license :P_


	11. Chapter 10 part 2

_A_N: Well, here we go, another update. Thank you for all the encouraging reviews, I'm glad that you're liking the story. Pairings? Enjoy - The Fictionist

Chapter 10 part 2

"What is going on here?' Scrimegour, demanded.

Harry felt his head tilt to the side. Blimey, he remembered the lion-haired man when he was a teenager. No Auror could be intimidating if you saw them drunk at the age of fifteen. Ah, good times. The man looked around, his gaze landing on him and Tom. His mouth tightened, all the colour draining from of his face. "What did the pair of you do to Madame Umbridge?' came the immediate question. He wondered absently if he should have been offended at how everyone automatically concluded him as a troublemaker.

"Rufus," Tom smirked, " an Auror, are we?"

"Mr Riddle, if we could keep this professional." He looked nervous though. Bless the little ministry worker.

Tom shrugged easily, a debonair expression on his face.

'But, of course," his violet eyes hardened. "Madame Umbridge was a death eater."

He almost laughed at the utter disgusted, horrified and poor little orphan Tom managed to pull off, while still garnering respect.

"Didn't you see the dark mark?" Harry widened his eyes innocently. Rufus hesitated, glancing at his men. He was clearly torn between doing his job and not trusting them.

"Well, yes, but -"

"-But what? It wasn't enough evidence for you? Sirius Black never even got a trial, and he actually was innocent." He saw Scrimegour wince. Tom's eyes met his for a brief moment, amusement present in his gaze for a moment.

"Well -" Rufus began, obviously not liking being interrupting by a teen.

"- You're TOM RIDDLE!" a loud interruption. Harry almost snickered as yet another interruption made the head Auror's ire visibly grow.

"And you are?" Tom's calm reply seemed to serve only in irritating Scrimegour further.

"Dawlish, I - wow, this is an honour. I am such a fan of your work!"

This had to be a joke. Did he mean Voldemort, nah, he couldn't, could he?

Tom seemed to be thinking a long the same lines, at least that's what the slight quirk of his brow suggested. It was almost eerie how well they knew each other, and how little.

"My work?" Tom repeated, giving the Auror an intense, psyching stare.

"Catching the heir of Slytherin during the monster attacks."

Oh. He was getting worried for a moment there. Tom looked a little blank.

Oh, Harry almost laughed, it hadn't happened to Tom yet; but he knew who the heir of Slytherin was. Riddle shot him a sideways glance, warning him that he would be explaining once the ministry had left. He merely smiled innocently.

"Ah, that. It was nothing," Tom said breezily, smiling a charming smile. "I was merely doing my duty."

Liar.

Dawlish smiled stupidly, hanging onto the future Dark Lord's every word. Irony to its greatest forms. How he managed to become an Auror…then again, it was the ministry. They were almost all incompetent so he supposed that this doofus fit right in.

"What are you going to do about Umbridge?" Harry asked, taking a slight step forward. He inwardly cringed as everyone stared at him. Dawlish had gone slack jawed.

"Wait, you're Harry Potter!"

"Yes," he dismissed patiently. "Hi."

"What does it matter?" Scrimegour snapped. Dawlish looked excited now.

"But don't you see!" he explained.

"Why don't you explain?" a slow, regal voice asked. He turned to glance at the dark-skinned, bald man. Kingsley Shacklebolt. An Auror. An Order member - they'd met at Grimmauld over the summer. Harry hadn't missed the sick twist of fate from landing from hanging out with Tom to being in the Fawkes' HQ. The irony. The sick irony.

"Well," Dawlish began, pointing to him and Tom like a child who had heard that Christmas was a month early. "If he's Tom Riddle, then he has to be Harrison Evans! Which means that Harry Potter is Harrison Evans!"

He clapped slowly. "Genius," he said sarcastically.

"I know, right!"

Seemed Dawlish didn't know of sarcasm.

"Your point is?" Scrimegour asked. Dawlish grinned gleefully.

"The light's savoir is also a dark side legend; we're going to win now. He can easily kill You-know-who."

Harry felt himself freeze, his fists clenching and his magic roaring. Tom's eyes flashed crimson, before darkening to black slits.

"Oh?" he said coldly, only realising after he had spoken that him and Tom had, once again, spoke and moved in complete unison.

"Oh dear," another Auror muttered, sensing danger. "Dawlish, honey?" the woman said sweetly.

"Smith?" he replied brightly.

"Shut up. I remember then stories of the Slytherin duo as well as you do."

He stared at her, uncomprehending. Dumbledore stepped up, all grandfatherly.

"Slytherin duo?" he repeated. "Well sure, that's what everyone called them. Among other things, according to my grandfather."

"Such as?" Alphard asked curiously, grinning at them both.

"Together or individually?"

"Both," Abraxas said. Dawlish hadn't seemed to notice the predatory smirks on all of the Slytherin's faces - but everyone else certainly had.

"Here we go," Scrimegour said, but it was quiet. No one - no one - who knew them, or of them, got involved in their fights.

"Well, um. Riddle is like the Prince of Slytherin -" Tom smirked. "-Evans is Griffin, the Snake Lion or He-who-must-not-be-named-in-he-who-must-not-be-named's- hearing. I never got that one…"

Harry exchanged a look with Tom. They both knew where that one came from.

"Then if you talked to the lions they were the next Dark Lord's in training and apprenticed to Grindewald."

Harry actually laughed at that one.

"I can't see Tom becoming a Dark Lord," he said, somehow managing to school his features as he said it. Dumbledore gave him a flabbergasted look. It almost cracked his composure.

"Are you accusing me of something?" Tom demanded, glaring at Dawlish. Smith backed up a little.

"No!" he looked panicked now.

"I think we should be going," Smith said.

"Great idea," Scrimegour smiled nervously "Lets go, rest assured - Madame Umbridge will receive appropriate punishment."

The Aurors fled, grabbing a bewildered Dawlish roughly by the arm.

A moment of silence.

Then they started to laugh.

"So, what's this about a monster an the heir of Slytherin?"

Well hell.


	12. Chapter 11

_AN: Aloha, wow, I think I'm in shock at the interest this story is getting. I'm glad that you're all enjoying the story. Corpium, the aurors didn't forget to take Umbridge away, she disappeared in the end of the previous chapter (part 1) in a puff of light :) when she was banished by Harry and Tom. I figured that seeing as I was so thrilled with all the reviews, story alerts, author alerts and favourite stories that I would hurry up. Did I mention the reviews? :P Enjoy - The Fictionist_

Chapter 11

"Um," Harry hesitated, staring at Tom with what he hoped was an innocent smile. Tom's eyes narrowed, not buying it for a second. "Interesting story that," he offered.

"Why don't you tell it then?" Lestrange sneered, ever eager to get him in trouble. He took one look at their expressions and gave Tom a dazzling smile.

"Bye!" He ran for it. He heard Tom curse, very un Dark Lord-ishly he might add, before sprinting after him.

"GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW, YOU LITTLE -!"

The Slytherin's laughter didn't help.

He raced across the school, Tom hot on his heels, sending curses at his back. He was so glad that he was a faster runner…the sad part was that Tom had more endurance. He had more patience though. A stray spell, and he abruptly felt his knees buckle beneath him. His hands shot out, bracing for impact, but two arms came round him torso, right before he actually hit. Tom lowered him to the floor, one eyebrow raised demandingly.

"Hi," he said brightly. It seemed to overthrow Tom for a moment, before the single minded focus was back.

"Tell me now.""It'll muck up the timeline."

Tom gave him a long, disbelieving glare. He grinned. "And me being in this time along with my future counterpart doesn't?"

He had a point. Still, stalling tactics needed. "I don't think they believed your I am Lord Voldemort statement."

Tom sat down beside him, which was actually quite insulting as it insinuated that Tom didn't even need to be on his feet to stop him from bolting.

"They're stupid. They would rather blatantly ignore the facts then acknowledge that the cute guy they're all crushing on is the teenage Dark Lord."

"Your modesty never ceases to amaze me," he said dryly. Tom shot him a dangerous smirk.

"Neither do your pitiful attempts at conversation blockers. Gryffindor, is all I'll say."

There was a moment of silence.

"My legs are starting to cramp," he stated cheerfully, earning him an odd look.

"Good," Tom said shortly. Another pause in the conversation. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you enjoy spending time in the hospital wing, half dead and bleeding because you insist on making me invade your mind for information that you could so easily give?"

"Is that supposed to make me spill -""No," Tom glanced at him. "It's a serious question."

"Not really."

"I think I'm in shock…"

"I DO NOT HAVE A HERO COMPLEX!" he yelled indignantly, knowing where the conversation was going before the words themselves were spoken. Tom reached over, ruffling his hair in an annoying, patronising fashion.

"I'm sure," he mocked. His expression turned serious, his wand raising slightly. "Well," he sighed. "There was me wanting a simple conversation after dealing with that hag for you. Guess I'll have to go to the Chamber angry then, and see for myself." Riddle stood up, offering him a cold smile. A flick of the wand and he was floating gently.

"Lets go. Maybe I'll get lucky and Slytherin's monster will eat you."

His eyes widened. Damn.

He had a feeling that he was now dealing with a humanoid Voldemort who was sane.

___

.

INTERLUDE, VOLDEMORT POV, INTERLUDE

The Dark Lord sat in his study, at Malfoy manor, staring at his wine glass. His crimson eyes were narrowed to slits as he regarding the blonde in front of him.

"Why am I only just hearing about this, Lucius?' he demanded icily. The senior Malfoy gulped.

"I have only just discovered their identities myself, my lord," he said quickly. Voldemort took another sip of his liquer, deep in thought. So, Harry Potter was Harrison Evans, and his younger self and followers were at Hogwarts. How…inconvenient. His younger self was still ruled by emotion, weak and vulnerable to death. Powerful. They both were. His anger boiled. How dare that brat pretend to be his friend!? He could remember Evans, but he couldn't remember coming to this time. "Get out of my sight," he screamed suddenly. The blonde flinched, offering him a hasty bow and fleeing. Coward. Pathetic. None of them would ever be as strong as him. Well. It looked like he had some damage control to do…he had to have Riddle go down the road to immortality. He would not die. With an evil smirk, he took out an elaborate quill and parchment.

___

"You killed the basilisk," Tom's voice was emotionless, an ominous sign in itself.

"It was self defence," he replied, feeling helpless as he dangled in the air, Tom glanced at him, his eyes dark. Then he smashed his wand up, abruptly loosing the spell. Harry's eyes widened as he crashed painfully into the ground. Tom was by him in a second, his foot pressing into his throat. He felt himself go still, knowing that if he moved Tom would, with little remorse, shift his weight and crush his wind pipe instantly. There was just enough pressure for it to be uncomfortable.

"_I'm going to cut you a deal, Harry_."

___

"Where's Harry!?" Zevi Snape looked up, sneering at the fuming red head standing before him.

"Why are you asking me? He's your best friend, is he not?"

"Yeah! And don't you forget it, you greasy bat."

His eyes narrowed.

"Watch your tongue, lion," he said coldly. All of the Slytherin's around drew wands. The weasel suddenly looked a little nervous, but boldly determined.

"What have you done with him?!"

The accusation was the last straw. Who did these boy think he was? He wasn't the sole person who knew and cared about Harry!

"Dead, dying, not about to recover soon. For such great friends you had little problem watching him run for his life with Riddle in a temper."

The mudblood bit her lip.

"I thought they were joking! You said that they rarely truly fought!" It was a smart observation, but an irritating one. She may be a know it all, but she knew sod all about his lord, or Harry it seemed. "Well, I think -" he never found out what the girl thought, nor did he particularly care. Alphard raced into the room, his raven hair flyaway and his face a picture of panic.

"Harry's in the hospital wing! There's blood everywhere!""I'm going to kill Riddle," the red head spat. "It's not Tom! How dare you!" Alphard roared in a rare fit of fury. "It's that bloody Dark Lord of yours! He's in Harry's head!"

Oh good lord.

They all ran.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12 (Tom's POV)

He felt Harry go still beneath his foot.

"_I'm going to cut you a deal, Harry_,' he hissed softly. Those killing curse eyes met his, wary but unafraid.

'What's the deal?' Harry asked, albeit a little croakily due to the pressure on his wind pipe. He appraised the boy. Harry really was different to everyone he had ever met. He had a respect for the boy that he didn't have for the others - he didn't want to force him to his side. But he would. If he couldn't have Harry, no one else could either.

'It's more of a contract, of sorts,' he said smoothly. 'Have you ever heard of the saying: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth?'

'An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.'

Typical. Harry would a smart mouthed comeback ready, wouldn't he? For a lion he had a tongue of knives.

'The world are already blind -' he began, pausing as Harry's eyes dilated. He looked down at his foot, was he pressing down too hard? A small whimper escaped the boy. Something was wrong. He didn't need to have the mental connection open with Harry to determine that much…wait, mental connection? He dropped down to his knees as the boy's eyes turned glassy. He swore under his breath.

Harry's eyes had tinted a crimson red. His future self? Wow, he could possess Harry? How interesting…something to consider. Harry had a bad habit of pushing him too far with his refusal to take orders - even when they were for his own health.

'_Well, well, well. What do we have here?' _Tom stiffened at the sibilant voice. That wasn't Harry. Which meant…

'_Lord Voldemort?' _he questioned evenly. A smile, god awful and so far from his own that it was almost unrecognisable. Almost. The twist of the mouth was his.

'_Hello Tom. I must say, it's not everyday one meets ones self.'_

'_What have you done to Harry?' _he asked dangerously. Those blood red, snake-like eyes narrowed.

'_Pull yourself together child. The boy is of little consequence to us.'_

'_No,' _he disagreed. _'Harry is of little consequence to you. He is of very much interest and use to me.' _The eyes flashed green for a moment. Good boy.

'_Don't be a fool!' _Voldemort, again. Blood was beginning to seep out the cut on Harry's forehead, his body twisting in pain at the invasion. Tom's eyes aura flared.

He wasn't a fool, and he would destroy anyone who said otherwise, even this apparent him. How had he become this? A snake like monster resorted to hurting a teenager? Pathetic. Lord Voldemort would never fall to the standards of a common criminal. No one touched Harry, except him - and that meant HIM, not another him…and Salazar that sounded odd.

'Yeah,' he dismissed coldly. 'Can I have Harry back? _We _were in the middle of something.' It was phrased as a question, but it wasn't really. They both knew that. Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

'You dare -' he began, they had switched once more to English. Tom smirked cruelly, watching as his future self lost composure. Disowned. He would never do that. Who was this impostor?

'Oh, I dare - and you should know I never back down from a dare,' he taunted. A second later, he rammed into Harry's head.

The impostor may have had a mental connection, but so did he. He was closer, he had the home advantage. That, and he was just better in everyway.

___

Tom looked up as a crowd burst into the hospital wing, a small frown on his face.

'Harry!' the buck-toothed mud blood shrieked, running over. He nearly rolled his eyes, but a lord did not roll his eyes.

'You do know he can't hear you, right?' he enquired delicately. Granger flushed, glaring at him.

'Shut up Tom. This is all your fault!' Huh. She called him Tom.

'My fault?' he repeated dangerously. 'Pray, how is it my fault? I just saved his pretty little head.'

'I always knew you had a thing for me, Tommy darling.' A weak, but ever mocking voice murmured. He shifted his gaze to Harry. He'd deal with the mud blood and the blood traitor later.

'Oh,' he purred, 'but of course my love. You are my one, my only - the only thing that keeps my soul together, I fear I shall die without you,' he drawled, putting a hand dramatically to his heart. Harry gave him a look, a small grin on his face.

'Taking it too Tom, taking it too far,' he replied. A pause, everyone was staring at them, the Slytherin's snickering. 'I'm never going to be able to look your future self in the eye again.'

He smirked.

'I know.'

'Bastard.' Harry sat up slowly, looking around him, clutching his head.

'Are you okay? What happened, mate?' The red head demanded. Harry nodded, wincing slightly.

'I'm great. Volds, not so much -'

'-Voldemort. Lord Voldemort!' The Slytherin's said automatically, loyally. He smirked at the lions expressions. Sanctimonious fools. He still needed a name for them…hmm. Knights of Walpurgis was quite good, but it didn't quite fit with Flight-of-death or Morsmorde (take a bite out of death.) Hey, bite out of death…Death Eaters. It had potential. Meh. Perhaps with a little work.

'Yeah, yeah,' Harry said. 'Anyway, Volds wasn't too happy with my apparent traitorishness to the dark side. His mood seemed to decline when I told him to be a traitor to the dark side, you had to be on the dark side is the first place. Don't know why.'

And Harry wondered why most of his future Knights wanted him dead.

'Perhaps it would be advisable not to annoy him?' he offered, almost laughing at everyone's expressions. His Knights were still oblivious to who the dark lord really was. Harry's minions: not so much. They were staring at him, thrown by how him and Harry talked so easily. Losers.

'Ah, he'd get bored,' Harry replied. The words were light hearted, but Harry's eyes met his with a serious intensity. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. No, he wasn't going to bring up the basilisk again at the present time. Forgive and forget and all that….well.

'Probably - a sad fact in itself,' he replied. The conversation continued for a while, light hearted and utterly fake.

'So, um. How did I get here from…' a pause, 'where Voldemort attacked me?' Harry asked. Oh. Damn. He hoped Harry wouldn't ask that.

'Tom carried you.'

Alphard, stupid idiot, was dead. The Black needed a lesson in keeping his mouth shut.

'You did?' Harry looked at him, startled and a little embarrassed. He nodded stiffly.

'You owe me a new shirt. Blood is a nightmare to get out.'

'Duly noted,' Harry replied, giving him a long look.

'Okay, everyone out!' Madam Pomfrey bustled in, looking harassed. 'Harry, the Headmaster would like to talk to you.'

Oh the joy. He made no move to leave as everyone else did. They were talking about him, so he was staying. Harry gave him a knowing look, but his features had hardened into an unreadable mask as footsteps approached the ward. Looked like the interrogation had arrived. Harry glanced at him.

'_Thank you, for everything.'_

'_What -' _he began.

The Headmaster strolled in, his eyes devoid of a twinkle.

Saved by the multicoloured robes that burned your eyes.

Damn.


	14. Chapter 13

_AN: Aloha, it's been a while, but here it is. Thank you for all the reviews and alerts; I'd just like to say again that this isn't slash. Sorry. I don't write it. Enjoy - The Fictionist._

Chapter 13

The wizened headmaster paused by his bedside, staring at Tom.

'Harry, my boy, I wish to talk to alone for a moment,' he said, smiling placidly. Tom raised a brow at the snub.

'What, so you can talk about me? I wish to stay, I don't trust you with Harry, and we know that what I wish counts over what you wish,' Tom replied coldly. A hand came round his chest, pulling him away from Dumbledore's arm reach. The headmaster took a step forward, looking furious, before the smile was back and he sank gracefully into a conjured armchair.

'What do you say, Harry?' Dumbledore asked. He looked at the old man, once his mentor and still a fondly thought of but irritating and manipulative as hell grandfatherly figure.

'I don't mind if Tom stays,' he said simply. The headmaster looked a little displeased.

'Very well,' he said tightly. There was a moment of silence. 'Can you tell me what you saw, Harry? I know this is difficult for you, but I need to know what Tom said.'

'Voldemort,' he corrected automatically. Dumbledore gave him a long, piercing look.

'What did Tom say?' he continued. Harry could feel Tom's magic starting to crackle ominously.

'I don't know, I was trying too hard to get _Voldemort _out of my head to pay _Tom _all that much attention,' he returned, his voice growing deadly calm. Dumbledore stared back at him for a moment, not a twinkle in his eye.

'What did Voldemort say?' The headmaster asked finally. Score. Harry 1, Dumbles 0,

He smirked innocently.

'Nothing that concerns you,' he replied smoothly. 'Lets go. I can't stand another second in this whiteness.'

Tom laughed.

___

DUMBLEDORE:

How had things slipped so far out of his control? Harry Potter was Harrison Evans and Tom Riddle was in his Hogwarts. It was so unfair. He couldn't even openly challenge them at the risk of pushing Harry to the dark side even more - or start another way entirely. They both drew people, especially together - there just seemed to be a magnetic field of charisma and power around them. They were both good-looking boys too. Damn. Harry was going to get hurt, like him with Grindewald, then he would be so far gone that he wouldn't fight the way for them. Damn it! He glared at the entrance, where the Slytherin duo had left. He needed to get back in the game. Soon. Tom wasn't going to let the boy go without a fight.

RON WEASLEY

He started as the two figures stormed out of the hospital wing, their voices a low hiss. Parseltongue. Why was Harry talking snake with Riddle? Did they have something to hide. He seethed miserably. Ever since the snakes had slithered in Harry had had less and less time for him - him and Hermione. He thought they were best friends. But it seemed that Harry had new friends now. A Malfoy?! How could Harry be friends with a Malfoy.

'What did Dumbledore ask you, mate?' he asked, stepping into both of their way. They paused in their conversation to look at him. He hated that cold, calculating look that Riddle regarded with him. The evil bastard would probably slaughter them all in their sleep. Harry, his best friend, was going to get hurt or worse. He bristled slightly.

'Wanted to talk to me about Voldemort,' Harry shrugged, his eyes darkening. He looked dangerous.

'What did you say?' he asked eagerly.

'To sod off,' Tom replied, pulling Harry past him. 'Later Weasley.'

___

HERMIONE GRANGER

Harry had changed, that much was undeniable. But it was also undeniable that he was still the same at heart - courageous and heroic. The little boy with too much unwanted attention and weight on his shoulders that had rescued her from a troll in the bathroom. Her best friend. Practically her brother. They had been through thick and thin, hell and high water together, no new attitude was ever going to change that. He seemed more open around Tom, yet more guarded. He laughed more, he smiled more - bitter smiles, genuine smiles and smiles so bright that they eclipsed the sun. He had more confidence, he got better grades. He had someone who understood. Because Harry and Tom, despite their arguments - witnessed many a time in the great hall, and their power plays and banter: they understood. She would have liked to be the one to do that for Harry, but she couldn't. He was happy. Sure, he was still a brooding, moody person who pushed everyone away at times, but he was happier too. Slytherin seemed to cater to his brooding side in a way that Gryffindor, with all of its boisterous cheer couldn't. He was a Slytherin. He was a Gryffindor. She knew how that felt, and couldn't begrudge him for indulging in that vital bit of Harry that no one else saw. She was a Ravenclaw. She was a Gryffindor. Harry had shown that she could be both. She would stand by him. Thick of thin, hell or high water. That was what friends did.

CYGNUS LESTRANGE

He hated Potter - with a vengeance. He was so disrespectful and impertinent. Yet somehow his Lord stood for it. It didn't make sense. Him and Tom had once been close, but now he spent more time with Harry. Harry! He didn't know the first thing about being a pureblood, and his power would have been so much better in capable hands. The lion didn't even know how to use it properly. He still had Tom, Zevi, Alphard and even Abraxas wrapped around his little finger. It was sickening. Why couldn't this dark lord just hurry up and kill the brat so that the natural order of Slytherin could be reinstated. He was Tom's right hand man, his most loyal and faithful. Harry didn't even support Tom. Where was the justice?

'Mr Lestrange?' he stopped at the twinkling blue eyes that met his, feeling his insides curdle with dislike, Another muggle lover, just like Evans.

'Sir?' he asked sullenly. The old man beamed at him.

'I was wondering if you could help me with something?'


	15. Chapter 14

_AN: Aloha, here goes. Thank you for all the reviews, sorry it's been a while. I would give you an amazing, valid excuse…but I don't have one. Enjoy - The Fictionist._

Chapter 14

Harry walked down to breakfast, yawning behind his hand and arguing with Ron over the undeniable failure of the Chudley Cannons. They had lost every game in the season and his best friend STILL insisted that they were amazing. Honestly. Some people were simply beyond help. As they entered the hall, he waved goodbye and headed over to the Slytherin table. He loved Gryffindor, and Ron, dearly but he couldn't stand to see such awful table manners this early in the morning. It worked either way. Breakfast - Slytherin, Dinner - Gryffindor and Lunch with whoever he felt like if he bothered with the meal. Sometimes he just took the time to train.

He collapsed into his customary seat between Tom and Zevi, helping himself to a coffee.

'You know, it's really not healthy to just drink caffeine in the mornings,' Tom remarked. He raised a brow, taking another deliberate gulp of said drink. Alphard rolled his eyes.

'Since when have you cared about my health?' he returned. 'Is there a special occasion that I don't know about?'

'Does there have to be a special occasion for me to care about you, and your wellbeing?'

He regarded the heir of Slytherin with a highly suspicious look.

'Yes,' he said after a moment. His almost laughed when his blunt statement caused Zevi to choke on his waffle.

'Harry!' Abraxas hissed furiously. Those silver eyes begged him to please shut the hell up, lest he annoy the great snake lord himself. He ignored the look. Salazar knew he'd received it enough from his fellow Slytherins, Tom, Imogen and Roger…okay, the whole school, more times then he could actually count. He'd considered keeping a tally, but by a thousand and twenty three he just couldn't be bothered anymore. Not to mention, Tom, in a fit of rage at his blatant insubordination had ripped the tally sheet up, and he didn't want to redo it…but that was a different story entirely. Tom laughed softly, attracting and ignoring the attention of one Daphne Greengrass. Harry frowned.

'I was being serious. Do you want something? Because if this is you trying to get me to join you in another diabolical, crazy scheme of yours it's not going to work…'

Tom smirked.

'Relax little lion,' the Slytherin heir mocked, wrapping an arm around his shoulders for a moment.. 'You're so paranoid.'

'It's not paranoia if everyone really is out to get you!' he shrugged the arm off.

Alphard grinned, flicking a cornflake looking thing in his direction.

'Harry dearest, it's still paranoia if people are out to get you. Remember the golden rule: Tom is always right.'

Tom had a distinctively smug gleam to his eye at that statement.

'Guys, don't encourage him - and don't even get me started on the whole golden rule!'

'Seriously though,' Tom pierced him with one of his intense appraisals, 'you need to eat.'

He sighed, snatching Tom's toast from his plate (disregarding the looks of utter horror and the indignant show-some-respect sounds from the others) and taking a big, defiant bite. He met Tom's gaze.

'Satisfactory?' he questioned. Riddle frowned.

'There's a whole rack of toast on the table, and you just had to take mine.'

He innocently offered the offending food item in Tom's direction, smirking at the future Dark Lord's look of revulsion. 'I don't want it after it's been in your mouth!'

'You don't want what after it's been in who's mouth?' Lestrange asked, approaching the table, finally up from his bed.

'Tom's toast after Harry bit it,' Alphard said in a matter of fact tone of voice. 'You're missing quite the domestic drama here.' The young Black heir paled slightly as him and Tom both turned to look at him. 'Not that, um, you two are, I mean,' he stammered helplessly for a moment. Harry decided to take pity on the boy and looked away. The moment passed.

'Domestic is totally Tom and Cygnus,' he smirked, before yelping. 'OW! Tom!' his hand rose instinctively to touch the back of his head. 'You could kill someone with that book bag.'

'Well done, chosen one, you just figured out my - what was it? - diabolical, crazy scheme,' Tom continued to calmly eat his breakfast. He narrowed his eyes.

'_Don't call me that,_' he hissed. Tom looked up slightly at the parseltongue.

'_Stop whining, it's unbecomin_g_,' _he replied.

It was, overall, an uneventful breakfast.

Then Cygnus spilt scalding hot coffee all over him.

___

'_Sh*t,' _he hissed as the brown liquid immediately burnt his skin.

'Language!' Tom snapped. He stared at the future Dark Lord for a brief moment - he was getting riled up over his language?! - before focussing on the more immediate threat of hot caffeine.

'Oops,' Lestrange sneered, widening his eyes. 'I'm so sorry, Harry!'

Yeah, right. Bastard did it on problem. He cleaned it with a flick of his wand, no damage done to anything except his…and apparently Tom's mood.

'I'm sure,' he said coldly. The rest of the Slytherin's had gone very still. Lestrange hadn't power played him in a long while - why now? Whatever. He didn't care. Still, feeling slightly unnerved at the sheer menace in the other boy's gaze, he grabbed his bag, his magic crackling, as the bell rang to signal classes.

___

'What's wrong, Harry?' Hermione asked. He glanced at her, startled, then realised that he'd been staring at the same page of his transfiguration text for the last couple of minutes. He shook his head, presumably to clear it, and offered his friend a smile.

'It's nothing. I'm just tired and dealing with some snake house mumbo rubbish,' he dismissed. Hermione looked at him in concern.

'Punch Riddle in the face, mate,' Ron commented idly.

'It's actually not Tom I have a problem with, for once,' he sighed.

'Turn Malfoy into a ferret then.'

He didn't know whether to laugh or be annoyed at his best friend's assumptions.

'Lestrange, Ron,' he said. Not really sure why he was bothering with the conversation at all. It wasn't like Ron understood the political power plays of the snake house. To him, the coffee would be an annoyance, but nothing significant. Life was so simple when he hadn't exercised his green side. In Gryffindor, you knew if someone had a problem with you because they tended to say it straight out to your face. Slytherin, however…was a different matter entirely. He sighed, his scar prickling unpleasantly.

A black hawk swooped in through the window.


	16. Chapter 15

_AN: Aloha, its been a while, but enjoy. Damn, I have so many ideas for this fic but I can't get them to all slot into decent writing. Sorry. Thanks for all the reviews anyhow. Enjoy, I hope - The Fictionist._

Chapter 15

He stared at the bird, his insides chilling. Somehow, somehow, he knew who its owner was. He picked his wand up, approaching the hawk with no small amount of trepidation.

'Go away,' he hissed. 'I don't n it.'

The black demon stared at him with cold, menacing eyes. Jeez, he licked his dry lips. 'Go on!'

The bird hopped towards him, sticking it's leg out. It clicked its sharp beak in warning. A short battle of wills ensued. He checked the letter for curses, portkeys or any other enchantment or danger. Nothing. Inhaling deeply, he opened the letter.

'Who's it from?' Ron asked curiously. 'What does it say?'

His vision began to swim, his heart constricting. It was a list, a list of names. The names of everyone he cared about, some of the names were crossed out: such as Lily Potter, James Potter and Cedric Diggory. It was a hit list. Written in a spidery script across the bottom, nothing like Tom's elegant handwriting, was three things.

1) Hello Harry Potter, or is it Evans?

2) How many more will die?

3) Your choice.

Voldemort.

___

He stared at the parchment, in silent horror. Even as he watched, a thin line went sharply across the name 'Sirius Black.' It was as if someone had just crossed it out…and the crossed out names were people who were dead, or dying. His breath caught. No. Please no. He scrunched the parchment in one hand, sinking into an armchair. This couldn't be happening.

'Harry?' He looked up at Hermione's worried face. 'What is it?' she demanded.

'He - he's got,' he stared blankly at the list of names. What did he do? He was the man with the plan. The hero complex…but he didn't know how to save his Dogfather. He didn't even know if this was a trick. He stood up decisively. Desperate times; desperate measures. He couldn't believe he was doing this. 'I have to see Tom.'

___

He walked down the familiar dungeon corridors, his heart in his chest. Oh god. What if he was too late? What if Sirius was dead? What if - he hated what ifs.

'_Open,' _he hissed. The stone wall slid open. Everyone turned around, staring at him. Some were hostile, others, like Zevi, looked concerned.

'Harry -?'

'Is Tom here?' he blurted. A dead silence.

'He -' Abraxas began.

'Went to the library,' Cygnus finished coldly. 'I'll tell him his newest pet dropped by, shall I?'

His hackles bristled, but then dampened as he saw Alphard's face. Once more he was hit by the likeness to his godfather. Sirius. His eyes shut briefly Perhaps this, going to Tom and the snakes, was a terrible idea. They would laugh. They weren't exactly against the Dark Lord, were they? He took a deep breath.

'No, it's fine,' he said quickly. 'I'll just -'

'Are you okay?' Zevi, again. He looked at the young Prince, offering him an utterly fake, strained smile.

'Yeah, I'm good. I'll just, um, go…'

'Harry?'

___

He paused as Tom came out of the dorm. His jaw tightened. Damn Lestrange and his stupid power plays. He didn't have time for this. 'Hey, I was just, look, never mind.'

Before he could back out, Tom's eyes flicked to Lestrange, then back to his ashen face.

He came over in one swift movement, his fingers closing around Harry's arm.

'Dorm. Now. Zevi if you could?'

'Oh, sure!' Zevi said quickly, taking up a position by the door. He was pulled into the familiar dormitory, now expanded to fit both the current Slytherin's and the time travellers. His throat tightened. No going back, right?

'What's happened?' Tom demanded. He looked at the future Dark Lord silently for a moment, wondering if he could still take everything back and deal with the situation on his own. He wasn't used to asking for help, but he couldn't exactly go to anyone else either. They were on the list. Tom's eyes were intense on his face, heavy in their scrutiny. Silently, he flicked up some privacy wards, silencing spells - advanced level. 'Harry?'

He dithered helplessly for a moment, then opened his fisted palm, revealing the letter. Tom gave him a long look, then plucked the crumpled parchment. He read it silently, his eyes tracing every line and every letter. His expression didn't change, remaining closed and unreadable. The only visible emotion was a slight, almost unnoticeable, tightening of the mouth and muscles. Those dark eyes flicked up to his face.

'Voldemort?' Tom asked.

'Yes,' he nodded stiffly. He shut his eyes for a moment, feeling a headache that had nothing to do with mental invasion building at the base of his skull. His eyes felt hot. He had never felt so ridiculous, so scared. The war was becoming real. The casualties were rising and he couldn't stand it. He needed to save them, but he couldn't. Society deemed him their savoir, their light in the darkness; but they also deemed him a child, keeping him bundled in cotton wool and without the resources and freedom he really needed. They expected him to win the war for them, but they wouldn't let him fight. He was fifteen, for crying out loud. 'Salazar,' Tom murmured, swearing quietly in parseltongue. He looked up, his eyes hardening. Time to drop the kid gloves. No more simple training, he had to up the game. He had to fight hard and learn hard. No more play time.

'Name your price.'

____

TOM'S POV

He stared at Harry, pale but full of determination.

The other boy's pride had taken a severe blow in coming to him for help, he knew it. He kept his features impassive, cool and composed. His eyes scanned the list, before glancing at Harry's expression.

Voldemort was never meant to be this. Still, he wasn't a Slytherin for nothing, if he could use this he could. Still, he indulged himself by allowing himself to swear. This was just…

'Salazar.'

Those killing curse eyes opened, snapping to his face. Cold and haunted. His eyes. The eyes of a soldier.

'Name your price.'


	17. Chapter 16

_The past Slytherins:_

_Tom Riddle __(obviously). His intentions are unclear, he looks like you would imagine Riddle to look from JK's descriptions. He is unpredictable and does the strangest things, sometimes against his future self, for no clear reason. Brilliant, cunning, dark…as JK described._

_Zevi Prince:__ A relation of Snape's, his mother's father. Harry's biggest ally in with the snakes and against Tom - though he is definitely loyal to Tom. Smart._

_Cygnus Lestrange: __The father of Rodolphus, Rabastan…whatever other Lestrange's JK mentioned. Hates Harry with a vengeance, for 'taking Tom away.' Has a deal, as of yet unknown in contents, with Dumbledore. _

_Abraxas Malfoy: __Draco's Grandfather. Likes Harry well enough, a mixture between Lucius and Draco._

_Alphard Black: __Sirius' uncle. The one who in the books gave Sirius his fortune. A lot like a Slytherin Sirius. _

Chapter 16 (Tom's POV)

He stared at Harry, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction coil in his stomach like a serpent. Thank you Lord Voldemort. He didn't agree with how his future self had made so many enemies with his pointless killing; he could have completed his aims ages ago as charismatic Tom Riddle in the ministry. This list, however callous it was, was genius. Harry would go to the end of the world to save his friends and family…fool.

(Harry's POV)

He tensed nervously under Tom's intense, calculating stare. Perhaps he should have set a price first, rather then let Tom make his own demands. I mean, he was the teenage dark lord, however charming and sane he may act. This could be expensive and sticky. He swallowed slightly. Sirius. Okay Potter, don't be such a wimp. Take it like a man. What would Riddle want though? Somehow he doubted it was something as simple as money. In fact, witnessing the slight predatory glint, cruel and cold, in those dark eyes he was certain it wasn't going to nearly so easy. Riddle's head tilted to the side with a feline fluidity, like a snake watching his prey. Oh hell.

'How much is the mutt worth to you, Harry?' Tom asked silkily. He instinctively stayed very, very still. He knew Tom; if he showed any doubt or fear now he would be crushed. The Slytherin heir didn't tolerate weakness, especially not from him.

'How much are you asking?' he raised a brow. 'Because time is ticking along and to be honest I'd rather not have him back, only to find he's a corpse.' Just thinking about another person dying for him, especially another of his family, made his heart go cold. Tom took a step forward, assessing him as if measuring his worth on a pinch, circling him slowly. His unease grew when Tom stopped behind him. Two hands rested on his shoulders.

'Are you paying after of in advance?' How could he sound so…business like. They were talking about peoples lives here! He realised with a slight chill, that this probably was just the same as any other business to Tom - Tom didn't care about Sirius or the lives at stake, only what he could gain from playing along.

'After,' he said, as calmly as he can manage. 'Less if he's dead.'

There was a moment of silence.

'Swear on it.'

Harry took a deep breath, trying to ease his nerves. Why did the term 'shake hands with the devil' have to pop so relentlessly into his head?

'I Harry James Potter swear to fulfil my side of a mutually agreed payment for the saving of Sirius Orion Black in the agreed time.'

The hands abruptly left his shoulders, and Tom was halfway to the door, walking briskly.

'I understand I have a puppy to save then.'

A flash of green, a dark mark he realised with horror, and Tom vanished.

He swore.

____

'Where'd Tom go?' Lestrange asked sullenly.

'He had an…errand,' Harry replied awkwardly, still trying to get the image of the Dark Mark out of his head. What was that? Apparation via smoky snake thing? His scar began to throb.

'What type of errand?'

He shot Lestrange a dark look.

'Aren't you supposed to be the most faithful follower here?' he asked delicately. Lestrange flushed.

'I - Tom trusts me!' Lestrange hissed. He merely raised a sceptical mirror, turning his attention to the fire. 'HEY! He trusts me!'

'That's great,' he said pleasantly.

'He does!'

Harry could hear Zevi and the rest of the Slytherin's snickering, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Sirius. Please let him be okay.

The waiting was the worst part.

___

Tom appeared in front of the fire, causing him to jump.

The rest of the Slytherin's fell silent.

'Where were you?' Lestrange demanded, perhaps a little sulkily. Tom ignored Cygnus, staring at him.

'Sirius?' he whispered, not caring who heard him.

'Is fine, in the hospital wing if you wish to check on him.'

Harry stood up immediately, only to pause at the expectant arch in Tom's brow. Oh right.

He glanced helplessly at the door for a moment, then followed Tom into the dorm once more.

'Is he okay? How?' he questioned in rapid succession as soon as the door was shut.

'My methods were not part of the deal, Harry,' Tom smirked.

'Can't you just tell me anyway?' he asked. The look on Riddle's face showed him exactly what Tom thought of that question. No. He sighed.

'What do you want?' he said bluntly. He knew the other boy too well to think that Tom didn't already have his price set in his head. Tom took a step forward, his movements lithe and predatory. A hand, cold and sinewy, caught his arm. His left arm. He swallowed, suddenly feeling very stupid. He hadn't put any limits or restrictions on what Tom could demand of him. He didn't pull away, and Tom didn't look away. Still, when Tom slid his sleeve up, his movements excruciatingly slow, he couldn't help but jerk slightly.

'You'd let me, wouldn't you?' Tom said quietly, a small smile on his face. It wasn't a nice smile; it wasn't even a cruel smile masked with the normal charm. It was truly chilling.

'A deal's a deal,' he said dully.

He felt nauseous. Tom pulled his wand out, placing it delicately against his forearm. He pictured the dark mark…and felt even more sick.

There was a long, long silence and, oh god, he wished he could look away.

Pain.

_AN: Thanks for all the reviews, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I might hiatus this, because despite my efforts it's not going that well. You guys are welcome to use the idea. _


	18. Chapter 17

**The past Slytherins:**

**Tom Riddle ****(obviously). His intentions are unclear, he looks like you would imagine Riddle to look from JK's descriptions. He is unpredictable and does the strangest things, sometimes against his future self, for no clear reason. Brilliant, cunning, dark…as JK described.**

**Zevi Prince:**** A relation of Snape's, his mother's father. Harry's biggest ally in with the snakes and against Tom - though he is definitely loyal to Tom. Smart.**

**Cygnus Lestrange: ****The father of Rodolphus, Rabastan…whatever other Lestrange's JK mentioned. Hates Harry with a vengeance, for 'taking Tom away.' Has a deal, as of yet unknown in contents, with Dumbledore. **

**Abraxas Malfoy: ****Draco's Grandfather. Likes Harry well enough, a mixture between Lucius and Draco.**

**Alphard Black: ****Sirius' uncle. The one who in the books gave Sirius his fortune. A lot like a Slytherin Sirius. **

_**Chapter 17:**_

_**There was a sharp, acute burning sensation in his arm - so painful that it made his head spin. Then, just as abruptly, it ended. Feeling sick, he felt himself pitch forwards, unbalanced. Tom's hands shifted up to his shoulder, supporting him. Ha? He supported his minions. He didn't think he'd ever be able to look in the mirror without vomiting. **_

'_**I'm going to go check on Sirius!' he gasped. He couldn't deal with this. He couldn't be in this room. The dark mark was everything he stood against: he dared not to look down. Tom's grip tightened on his shoulders. **_

'_**Sit down, before you fall down,' he ordered. The command was accented with a firm push until he was leaning against one of the Slytherin bunks. He shook his head, his mind a daze. A smart sting to his face, and his eyes shot up. Did Riddle just slap him? Tom grabbed his jaw, staring at him. **_

'_**Calm down,' he instructed slowly. 'I haven't given you a dark mark.' **_

_**He felt his breath catch. He hadn't? Harry's gaze flicked down to his arm. Then up to Tom's face, his raised eyebrow, his dammed smirk. Then back to his arm. No…skull. He stared at his arm. No tattoo, just a series of crescent moons, as small as nail marks. It looked like Tom had just dug his nails into his arm, tightly. His brow furrowed with confusion. **_

'_**What?'**_

_**Tom passed a hand over the marks, and he watched with something like horrified fascination as the marks weaved into the form of a small snake. It was gold and silver in colour, with killing curse green eyes. His eye colour exactly. He didn't want to admit it, but the snake looked pretty cool. It was small, subtle and discreet. More his style than the gapingly obviously viper tongued skull of the dark mark. He got the shock of his life when the snake wink and moved, up his arm and out of side. His skin tingled with magic. Then, Tom took his hand away and a series of crescent moons rose out of his arm once more. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. He glanced askance at Tom. **_

'_**What is it?' he asked. **_

'_**It's a mark, my mark - your mark.'**_

'_**That's not the dark mark,' he said, frowning at the suspiciously innocent looking crescents. **_

'_**No, it's not…at least not the one you're accustomed to.'**_

_**Riddle looked distinctively smug. **_

'_**What does it do?' he demanded. **_

'_**Don't you trust me?' Tom smirked. **_

'_**No,' he said shortly. Tom chuckled. **_

'_**Go and find Sirius,' he said. He looked like the cat had got the cream.**_

'_**Tom…' he groaned. 'What does it do?' **_

_**Tom simply spun away from him, out of the dorm. **_

'_**Hello Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape.' **_

_**___**_

_**He shot to his feet, yanking his jacket down over his arm. **_

_**Feeling a little dizzy, he walked out of the dorm. Dumbledore's eyes snapped to his face, his arm. **_

'_**Harry, my boy.'**_

_**He winced as Tom's hand brushed past his arm as he reached a hand up to slam the dorm door. A low hissing occurred, too low for anyone not a parseltongue. **_

_**Mine. **_

**His eyes widened slightly, but he kept his features carefully composed. **

'**Professor?' he questioned carefully. **

'**Sirius arrived at the hospital wing around ten minutes ago, after a death eater attack - do you know how, perhaps?' **

**He looked back impassively at the old man. **

'**I have no idea,' he said simply. The saddest thing was that it wasn't even a lie. He did have no idea about how Tom had managed it…and to be honest he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He didn't tend to like Tom's more ruthless methods very much. **

'**Harry…' why did the headmaster sound so disappointed. The Slytherin's had tensed, watching the power play with speculative eyes. **

'**Show us your arm, Potter!' Snape snapped. He felt anger bubble in the pit of his stomach. Yet, how could he show them his arm? He rolled up his right sleeve. **

'**Other arm, if you will.' Dumbledore's eyes were devoid of any twinkle. He hesitated only for a second, before rolling his sleeve up. The skin was unblemished, and he felt a tell tale tingle on his upper arm - the serpent mockingly out of sight. It was, admittedly, an amazing piece of magic…not that he'd ever tell Tom. He hardly needed the encouragement. **

'**Yes?' he asked defiantly. Despite it all, it hurt that Dumbledore had him pegged for a corpse cruncher. **

'**I-' Dumbledore's expression faltered for a moment. 'You understand that I had to check,' he said pleasantly. 'For the greater good.'**

**He narrowed his eyes, but didn't snap back, too aware of the guilty little snake on his shoulder. **

'**I want to see Sirius,' he said. 'Is that all you wanted?' **

'**Your friends seemed to be under the impression that you received a letter from Tom.'**

**They were not getting into that again. He couldn't help but feel a slight resentment towards his best friends. What right did they have to tell Dumbledore anything about his life? Manipulative old goat. Hackles raised, knowing that he shouldn't, he glanced at the Slytherin heir.**

'**You know, you could have just walked up to Gryffindor to see me,' he said. **

**Tom smiled, something of a genuine smile. It was small, fleeting - but it was human and it was real. **

'**Mr Potter…' a low growl from the potion's master. **

'**What?' he asked innocently. He nodded slightly to Tom, in thanks of Sirius, before walking out. **

**AN: Aloha! Thanks for all the reviews. I'm still considering hiatus, but I had the idea for this chapter, so, I hope you enjoyed. Did you really think I'd do something as obvious as the dark mark?**


	19. Chapter 18

_The past Slytherins:_

_Tom Riddle __(obviously). His intentions are unclear, he looks like you would imagine Riddle to look from JK's descriptions. He is unpredictable and does the strangest things, sometimes against his future self, for no clear reason. Brilliant, cunning, dark…as JK described._

_Zevi Prince:__ A relation of Snape's, his mother's father. Harry's biggest ally in with the snakes and against Tom - though he is definitely loyal to Tom. Smart._

_Cygnus Lestrange: __The father of Rodolphus, Rabastan…whatever other Lestrange's JK mentioned. Hates Harry with a vengeance, for 'taking Tom away.' Has a deal, as of yet unknown in contents, with Dumbledore. _

_Abraxas Malfoy: __Draco's Grandfather. Likes Harry well enough, a mixture between Lucius and Draco._

_Alphard Black: __Sirius' uncle. The one who in the books gave Sirius his fortune. A lot like a Slytherin Sirius. _

Chapter 18:

'Sirius!'

His Dogfather looked up, crossing the space between them and holding him tight. He smelt of leather, of safety and, though he felt guilty towards James Potter for thinking it, something like a father.

'Harry,' he murmured. 'You okay, kiddo?'

'Am I okay?' he asked disbelievingly. 'You're the one that had a run in with the corpsicles!'

A low, bark like laugh at the name, then Sirius drew back a little to look at him, his gaze turning serious.

'Harry…that friend of yours,' he began.

'Tom?'

'Tom,' Sirius agreed carefully. 'I -'

'-Don't tell me to stop being around him,' he growled, feeling annoyed. Sirius rested his hands on Harry's shoulders.

'I won't,' he promised. 'Just be careful, okay? Don't make…promises that you aren't willing to keep.'

He looked at his godfather, his gaze sharpening. _He knew. He knew who Tom was. _

'I will,' he said quietly - even as he inwardly concluded that he would do what ever it took to keep his loved ones safe.

'I'm serious, I…I don't want to lose you.'

He looked away, not able to take the familiar stare. He knew Harry wasn'tplanning on keeping away; keeping safe. His godfather sighed.

'Call me on the mirrors if you ever need me.'

He knew…yet he wasn't running away in disgust? Calling him a traitor to the Potters? Harry felt a small, warm feeling bubble in the pit of his abdomen, followed by confusion. Mirrors? OH! The package that Sirius gave him before term. Feeling guilty, he made a mental note to open it immediately.

'Okay,' he said. They paused for a moment, watching each other in mutual understanding.

'OUT! Mr Potter you are in here enough already! Out! My patient needs rest!'

He smiled tentatively.

'Cya Padfoot,'

___

Feeling nervous, wondering at how the status quo may have changed, he sat down at the Slytherin table for breakfast the next morning. He felt the snake come alive as soon as he got near to Tom. He couldn't help but shiver slightly, garnering a small smirk from the Slytherin heir in question.

'What?' he demanded, moodily grabbing himself a cup pf coffee.

'You really should eat more than that,' Tom said lightly. There was a pause, then he raised a brow.

'Haven't we already have this conversation?' he returned tiredly.

'Yes, but you're not listening to me, have some toast.'

He began to argue, when his left hand started tingling. His fingers clenched under the table as the feeling grew…it was getting uncomfortable. On a hunch, he took a piece of toast. His suspicions were confirmed when the tingling went away. He scowled at Tom's smug expression. Bastard.

He let the toast lay defiantly untouched on his plate.

'Did you know that the new defence teacher is arriving today?' Zevi asked, swallowing his cereal. He looked up, but didn't say anything, still pointedly ignoring the offensive piece of bread on his plate. He was never hungry this early in the morning, and with the Dursleys he could go quite easily with only coffee for breakfast, no lunch and then a meal for dinner.

'Oh?' Alphard perked up with interest.

'Down boy,' Abraxas smirked. 'She's a woman called Alecto Carrow -'

'-Alecto Carrow?' he repeated. Wasn't she? he was pretty sure she was one of the death eaters that had never been convicted.

'-Yeah,' Abraxas' eyes turned to him. 'You know her?'

He set his jaw. Well, at least the corpse cruncher knew her dark arts to defend again.

Fantastic. Just freaking fantastic.

Tom smirked, taking a sip of orange juice.

'Personally, I can't wait to meet her.'

Huh.

___

'Students!' Dumbledore boomed, his voice effectively silencing the hall. 'The ministry have found us a replacement Defence professor…I hope you will all make her feel welcome.' He looked like he'd had a slightly too sour sherbet lemon. Harry didn't blame him. Were the ministry really that stupid? actually, stupid question - of course they were.

Alecto Carrow stood up to silence. He felt like clawing something…quite possibly Tom. His first impression of his new teacher was that of a Fury, she was dark haired with a horrible bony face and an insane tint to her eyes. After a moment, there was some forced, hesitant clapping. Everyone who was anyone in the Wizarding world knew exactly what side Alecto Carrow was really on.

He stiffened slightly, he could feel every snake in the hall staring at him. A death eater and the Boy-who-lived-to-have-a-ridiculously-hypened-name-and-why-did-they-even-do-that(?) was a chemical reaction destined to an explosive finish. Like Neville in potions class.

'Thank you, headmaster,' she smirked. 'I'm sure the students are in for an interesting…informative year.'

A small wicked grin.

Harry wondered if the teacher's would let him opt out and do a personal study instead. The air was thick with adrenaline. He doubted it. Clenching his fists - why couldn't he EVER have a normal year?! - he carefully put his coffee down before he chucked it over someone…namely Tom and his scheming, smug, oh so blank and innocent expression.

'Oh,' Carrow stood up again, as if she'd forgotten something. 'Mr Potter, Evans, whatever your name is: don't even _bother_ turning up to my class on Halloween. I really don't want to deal with the copious paperwork and near death experiences that follow you on that day,' she said pleasantly.

Absolute silence.

'She does have a point.'

It would be Tom.

AN: Damn, I'm on a block again. So many ideas…so bad writing skills on FF. Oh well, I'm sorry that this update is so short. Thank you so much for all the reviews - what do you guys think of the new professor?


	20. Chapter 19

AN: Hey, sorry for my lack of updates. I've got exams and I've been stuck abroad. So yeah, here goes. Thanks for all the reviews, favourites and alerts. This is horribly short, but I'm having major blocks on this story. Enjoy - The Fictionist

Chapter 19

"Who's fault is it that all my Halloweens are so terrible?" Harry replied dryly. Tom smirked.

"They can't all be terrible," Lestrange scoffed. He arched his brows, glancing at the Slytherin heir.

"First year, almost got killed by a troll. Second year, the chamber of secrets was opened. Third year, a mass murdering Azkaban escapee was supposedly out for my blood. Fourth year, ridiculously dangerous Triwizard tournament all year which I was forced to compete in…fifth year…don't get me started."

"What can I say, I'm persistent," Tom muttered, looking far too amused. "Fifth year, you ended up comatose and half dead in the hospital wing for two weeks."

"As did you, I remember," he replied coolly. Tom looked distinctively less amused.

"You make it sound like Tom's the one that messes you up," Zevi noted quietly. They were both silent. "What do you take him for, the Dark Lord?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he replied promptly. He glanced at the Slytherin heir. "Only his forerunner."

He sat on the stands of the Quidditch pitch, staring into the darkness. It was curfew in about two minutes, but he couldn't quite bring himself to move. This whole situation was messing with his head. When he'd gone to the past and made friends with Tom he had never expected to return, or never expected to be followed back. This was just weird, a clash of two worlds and personas so different that they scarcely seemed to belong in the same dimension, let alone in the same body. Harry Potter, Gryffindor golden boy and Harrison Evans, Slytherin extraordinaire. Chalk and cheese. Yet, they were both innately him…he supposed he had never really been the Gryffindor Golden boy, that had been an act all along. Still, if you lived your life a lie for four years, then didn't the lie become true? It was all so confusing. He couldn't afford to tell the truth, either, and it hadn't been a total fabrication besides…more a black and white snapshot. He was half there; in the smiles he gave and the friends he had.

Strangely, it was who is enemies were that defined the difference between his two lives.

"Out a bit late, don't you think?" a voice remarked, making him jump. "There could be dangerous people about at this time of night." "What, like you?" he replied, glancing up. Tom smirked, sitting down next to him. They watched the stars in silent for a couple of minutes.

"Alecto Carrow," Tom started. "What do you know of her?"

Harry stiffened slightly, his eyes narrowing.

"Death Eater who escaped conviction, brother Amycus," he replied dully. The Slytherin heir studied him impassively for a moment, his eyes glittering,

"You dislike her?" he questioned. Harry didn't reply, looking away into the distance.

"It's curfew, I should be heading back to the common room," he stated, even as he made no indication of actually moving, Tom chuckled.

"Rules are made to be broken," he responded softly. "Carrow?"

His lips curled slightly.

"You're not going to drop it are you?"

Tom quirked a brow.

"Harry, I stalked you to the _quidditch pitch, _why would I drop it?" the words quidditch pitch rolled of his tongue like slime. Tom had always hated the sport. Harry shrugged.

"She doesn't give a very endearing first impression," he allowed. The future Dark Lord was pensive for a moment. "Is there a reason for this? Or are you just being your normal nosy self?"

Tom smiled sharply at him, a shark like razor sharp smile.

"I'm merely curious for your opinion of the matter, is that a crime?"

He made a disbelieving noise.

"Bull," he retorted flatly. Tom was never so simple in his motivations, and he was certainly never open about them. The astute focus in his companions eyes shifted to pin his features, quietly clawing at his skin to reveal everything hiding below. Then, Tom smirked.

"Perhaps," he conceded. The slytherin rose, glancing at him. "You coming? Far be it from me to let you do something as scandalous as staying out of curfew."

He rose too, and they started walking back towards the castle.

"You're dodging the question," he noted.

"Something that you do quite often," Tom replied without missing a beat.

"What are you up to?" he demanded. Riddle came to a stop, close enough to touch. His expression had cooled rapidly.

"Why are you asking so many questions, Harry? You know I don't like it," he questioned icily.

"You know I don't like knowing. Your plans rarely benefit me. You know I'll find out anyway," he returned. Tom took a step closer, his aura beginning to flare. "If that is so, then why do you insist on continuing this conversation? It grows tedious."

His eyes narrowed. "Is it the same ever elusive reason you have for being in this time period, despite the lack of interest you seem to have in current affairs?" he asked.

Tom continued walking again, briskly now.

"This conversation is over."


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20:

They had Carrow's first defence class today. Harry wasn't looking forward to it. DADA teacher's had a bad habit of trying to murder him, and she kept giving him the evil eye.

Ron, in similar sentiments, stabbed his toast moodily. He was sitting with the lions, much to Tom's displeasure…then again, if Tom wanted his company he shouldn't have been so bloody annoying, should he? Still, he sighed. The Gryffindors were extremely loud and Ron talked with his mouthful. Great guy…but no manners at all.

"I can't believe Professor Dumbledore is letting her teach us!" Hermione complained indignantly, setting down her newspaper. He totally agreed. He wasn't looking forward to it.

He knew it would be awful.

He stormed furiously out of the classroom, his wand clutched a fraction too tightly in his fist. A group of third year Ravenclaws skittered out of his way. Strange, he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to have the corridors part as he walked through them. Not that he minded, it was strangely satisfying when their little looks weren't irritating…and sweet Salazar he sounded like Tom. He just couldn't believe the bitch said that! She was WORSE THAN UMBRIDGE. She was decent teacher, and if you ignored the sickening way she doted on Tom and the underline Death-eateriness of everything she said, the lesson could have been quite enjoyable. He was no stranger to the Dark Arts after all…but then she said that. It was innocent enough, at least in a classroom context. It was a good solid bit of advice about dealing with opponents…to everyone except him. To him, it was a knife twist to the gut and she knew it. _When fighting a group, it is useful to be able to separate the weeds from the people you really need to target and get rid of the spares. _

Get rid of the spare…kill the spare. It could have been a coincidence, he may even have allowed it to be one. Then she had smirked at him, with a mocking "isn't that right, Mr Potter?" Hag.

"Harry!"

He didn't stop at Ron and Hermione's voices. He really didn't want to talk to anyone right now…not even them. Damn it.

It was Tom that found him. Of course, it would be him. It was _always _him, whether Harry liked it or not. "Get lost," he snapped automatically. Tom walked further into the astronomy tower, his arms folded casually over his chest and his dark hair falling elegantly over one of his eyes. "Your minions are looking for you."

"They're not minions."

"Friends, whatever," Tom sighed dismissedly, studying his immaculate nails. "You missed lunch.""And you're missing Charms," he replied. He petted Hedwig's head some more, not looking up. It would start to bug Riddle in approximately five seconds.

"I've already passed my owls. As have you. This stuff is amateur compared to us."Harry snorted. What a typically superior Tom thing to say.

"You'll ruin your model student act."

"_Harry,"_ the annoyed hiss of parseltongue made his head lift reflexively. His shoulders tensed slightly in concern, despite himself. "What?" he asked, frustrated. "Look if you've got something to say to me, say it. I'm really not in the mood to second guess you today."

Tom rolled his eyes; a rarity in itself. He walked over, sitting down next to him, planting an hand firmly on his shoulder when he immediately tried to stand up. He went completely still. "Put it down to atonement and tell me what's bothering you. I'm bored and I have a throbbing migraine of teenage angst flittering in the corner of my head."

"Good for you. The sky is blue. Grass is green. Feel atoned," he replied dryly. Before he could get up, Tom's grip had tightened. He winced slightly.

"Lily Potter," Riddle remarked, seemingly randomly. The future Dark Lord's eyes had grown dark. "W-what?" he flinched, not expecting and not liking that word, that name, on _his _tongue. Sure, Tom wasn't Voldemort…but for crying out loud there were some lines of conversation Tom should have the courtesy to stay away from. He stood up, forcefully this time. Tom rose with him, his eyebrows slightly raised. "James Potter."

"Stop it," he growled. Tom looked thoughtful for a moment. "Hufflepuff boy."

"His name was Cedric, damn it!" his voice grew louder, eerily noisy in the hushed tower. Tom's head tilted. A small smirk graced his lips. "Godric's Holllow," he said slowly. It was the last one, the deliberate insinuations and pattern, that made him snap. His magic flared, his wand shooting up and a curse on his lips. Riddle seemed to have anticipated it, and dodged in the last second. His expression had turned serious. "K-"

"I'm warning you, Riddle," he spat. "If you say one more word I'm going to curse the spit out you.""Kill the spare," Tom replied simply. With a low snarl, he spun on his heels. Don't kill him. He's not Voldemort. Not worth it…Tom crossed the room with him, pushing the door shut again as they both reached it. He could feel himself trembling and he hated it. Damn it but Tom knew exactly which buttons to push; and after that lesson!"What's the matter Harry? I thought you said you were going to curse me?"He felt his fists clenching around his wand, but stilled his hands, knowing Tom could strike faster than a cobra. He was too tired for this, he couldn't even think up a snappy retort. He always had a comeback for Tom…ever since they had met he had always had something to say. He just felt completely numb. Right now, he didn't care if Tom punched him in the face. He was spun round and pushed back so they were facing each others. His eyes were glowing red. Voldemort - no, Tom - but. He quickly looked away.

"Then again, mudblood and a blood traitor," he shrugged. "Not to mention a curly haired dweeb…nothing to get upset about."

"Shut up," he said weakly. "Probably deserved it -""-I SAID SHUT UP!" his magic coalesced, burning like a flame. "I WILL ONCE YOU STOP BEING PATHETIC!" Tom yelled back."Pathetic?" he spat. "You're the bloody pathetic one. You couldn't even kill a toddler."

"And you have raging guilt issues over every single thing I do; what a team, right?"

"I-you're impossible!" he snarled."Witty, real witty, you've got a proper tongue of razors going for yourself there, don't you?"

"Screw you.""Doing real good today. Yes, impressive indeed," Tom mocked. They glared at each other in silence. He had never hated Riddle more….well, except that time with Roger and Halloween, but…"What, as impressive as stalking a fifteen year old across time? What? You have a crush on me or something?"

Tom's arms folded, his magic dying down. "My work here is done. Now suck up your little flashback issues and go and tell everyone to stop bugging me about seeing what's wrong with you."

He stared at Tom's back as he smirked and walked away.

Huh?

"TOM! GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!"

AN: It's crap, but it's an update? I plead mercy. Sorry I've been so inactive. Thanks for all the reviews. I hope you managed to enjoy. PS: If you're interested; I have a blog on (also as The Fictionist.) Blatant advertising, I know…oh the shame.


	22. Chapter 21

_**AN: Aloha, have an update. I hope it's adequate at least. It doesn't feel so good, but…anyway. Just a note: THIS STORY IS NOT SLASH. I'm not particularly writing a pairing at the moment, so if you really want you can treat it like that and try and read between the lines, but this isn't a romance and it isn't written as slash. So yeah. Enjoy - The Fictionist**_

_**Chapter 21**_

_**Harry and Tom entered the Great Hall, once more bickering. Everyone stared at them as they entered. "How did you manage to cheer him up?" Alphard asked, looking up, wary of drawing their wrath. Typical, blunt Blacks. "He didn't," Harry replied. "He only managed to annoy me."**_

"_**It worked, did it not?" Tom smirked. "You've stopped sulking."**_

"_**I do not sulk!" he snapped, rounding on the future Dark Lord. Tom's eyes glittered. "Yes, you do. You pout as well."**_

"_**I do not!"**_

"_**Would you like me to say 'do too' so that we can have a proper five year olds argument?" Tom asked delicately. He narrowed his eyes dangerously. Tom merely smirked at him. He couldn't help but touch a finger to his lips to check if he was pouting or not. He wasn't. **_

_**Tom burst out laughing. **_

"_**You're so precious Potter." "Shut up."**_

_**They sat in silence for a moment, having a silent battle of wills. Then, in an unspoken agreement, they turned to their dinners. He realised belatedly that he should have been sitting with the lions…but then again, he had sat with the Gryffs at breakfast. He had a feel Ron and Hermione would be over in a second anyway…yup. There they were. "Harry! Are you alright?" Hermione demanded. He smiled gently at her. **_

"_**I'm fine Mi," he replied, mainly honestly. She didn't look convinced. "What did you do to him?" Ron demanded. Tom raised a brow. "Charming. I rescue your little savoir -"**_

"_**-I take offence -"**_

"_**- from the depths of depression and suicidal thoughts and this is the gratitude I get? Weasleys…"**_

"_**I was hardly suicidal," he muttered furiously. Tom threw his head back and laughed, not particularly nicely. **_

"_**Yes, Potter. Because most people react like you did when someone says the -"**_

"_**-I still haven't ruled out cursing the spit out of you," he growled, twisting to glare at Riddle. Tom appraised him with an unreadable expression."Says what?" Zevi frowned. "You mean you've finally found a way to shut him up?" Lestrange muttered snidely. Tom just sat back, his eyes not leaving Harry's face. **_

"_**I'd deal with those issues if I were you, Harry."**_

"_**What issues?" Hermione asked, looking frustrated now. "It's nothing," Harry said quickly. **_

"_**Didn't look like nothing…"**_

"_**Shut UP, Tom!" he snapped. "It's none of your business besides."**_

_**Tom's eyes darkened at the blatant disrespect in his tone. "Watch your mouth," he warned icily. "And really, considering I'm the one that ends up with all your depressing thoughts in my head because your mind arts abilities are horrendous, I would say it was my business.""Harry's not depressed," Ron frowned. He loved the red head for that….defending him without thinking or even knowing all the facts. Tom glanced at him. He had a sinking feeling, anger burning in his chest. Tom tolerated his smart mouth comments to a certain extent, but he didn't appreciate insolence. He was going to pay for that 'shut up' comment now. **_

"_**No," Tom drawled. "Harry just cringes whenever you mention the word Lily Potter…perfectly normal." **_

_**Then there was silence. **_

"_**I hate you." Did he have to mention that, in the middle of the great hall? No, wait! This was Tom, he was a sadistic bastard who always came out top…of course he did.**_

"_**Oh, Harry…" Hermione began. **_

"_**It's nothing -"**_

"_**It's not nothing Harry, why didn't you say something!" she shrieked. For once, he would have loved her to show the Slytherin sense of mind to keep her voice down in private confrontations. **_

"_**Because you're making it out to be a far bigger deal than it actually is!" he growled. He could feel his cheeks beginning to burn in embarrassment. This really wasn't a conversation he wanted to be having. Actually, he felt more like cursing someone with some definitely not ministry approved curses. **_

"_**That's ridiculous!"**_

"_**Oh, so now -""I never thought I'd agree with a mudblood," Abraxas frowned. They both stopped to stare at the Malfoy heir, who looked indifferent under their scrutiny. "What?" he asked. **_

"_**You agree with me?" Hermione questioned. Abraxas shrugged. "Sadly so. Harry, for a Slytherin you are uncommonly eager to go on guilt trips. It's not normal. Neither is taking the guilt of a Dark Lord as your own…you do know they're called 'dark' lords for a reason?"**_

"_**That's besides the point," he started, irritated.**_

"_**Harry," Tom raised a hand. He paused despite himself. "Your attitude is getting dangerously close to insulting me." **_

"_**Oh, so sorry," he said sarcastically. "What's my attitude got to do with you, anyway?" e demanded incredulously. Riddle's head tilted. "Consider the topic chosen one -""-Don't call me that-"**_

"_**-you're not completely brainless, work it out." Was that a compliment? He stared at Tom. How did whatever he thought of that night have to do with - Oh. **_

"_**Hmmm," Tom said, seeming to know the second he got it. "You don't control mine nor my future self's actions. So relax. You have no right to feel my guilt." Tom stared at him demandingly. **_

_**He slowly nodded in acceptance, or at least acknowledgement of the point. "Fine," he bit out. They were all ganging up on him. It was so unfair that the one time his two sets of friends got a long it was when they were against him. Where was the justice? Not to mention, Tom was up to something…he just knew it. "But -"**_

_**They never found out what he was going to say, the Great Hall was silenced by loud voices coming from outside, approaching fast like the roar of a train down a tunnel. **_

"_**Duddy, don't touch anything -"**_

"_**-Absolutely preposterous."**_

_**Why were the Dursley's at Hogwarts?**_


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22:

Harry's heart seemed to stop for a moment, chilling with horror. No - NO!

The Dursleys couldn't be here…they just couldn't. It was wrong! Hogwarts was his home, his sanctuary from all things Dursley…and now they were here. With Tom. He felt sick.

"BOY!"

He cringed inwardly at the sight of his uncle charging towards him like an enraged bull; red faced and burly. His hulking, violent figure seemed to small for the room. Harry felt his shoulder's tense in concern, feel his heart beat quicken just a little bit. Outwardly, he remained calm, merely shifting his weight a bit so that he could easily move back if the situation demanded it. Tom had an unreadable expression on his face. He didn't bother to force a smile.

"What are _you _doing here?" he demanded automatically, not really thinking it through. Those piggy little eyes narrowed.

"Why - you little -"

"You're Vernon Dursley," Tom interrupted idly. His uncle stopped mid rant, looking at Tom.

"Who the hell are you?" he spat, before shaking his head dismissively. "Freak, get your stuff."

Excuse me?

"Why?" he asked warily.

"Don't question me boy. Just do it!" Vernon snarled. Dudley and Petunia came to a waddling, dithering stop next to him. Now he really did feel nauseous.

"Why are you here?" he questioned tightly, consequences be damned. A vein twitched in his uncles forehead.

"Don't ask questions. Do as you're told you little creep."

Tom's magic was starting to crackle, dangerously. Vernon seemed oblivious. Dudley shot him a smug grin. Petunia alone watched Tom with fear in her eyes.

"Duddy, wait outside," she said softly. "Vernon, pumpkin, perhaps we should move this discussion elsewhere…you know their type." Pumpkin? Didn't need to know that endearment…

"_Their _type?" Abraxas repeated coldly, eyeing his relatives like one would a small bug trapped under a microscope.

"Freaks," Tom clarified with a smile. The smile was an alarming one, deceptively pleasant in its countenance and utterly chilling in content. Those sharp eyes pierced his expression, searchingly. "Harry, why don't you…introduce us properly?"

Crap.

"Uh," he shook his head. "Later." He stood up swiftly, his muscles tight. "Family crisis - um - I think we should take this outside." His stomach churned like wild waves were washing around in the pit of his stomach. Tom scarcely needed another reason to fuel his muggle hatred.

Petunia glanced at him, her horsy jaw tight with tension and her nose flaring with revulsion at the presence of so many 'you know whats'.

"Don't tell me what to do boy, I've had enough of this - freakish nonsense - get your stuff and let's go."

Everyone was watching him, he could feel their stares prickling on his skin like fire. This was a nightmare. What the hell was going on?

Tom's fingers curled forcefully around his wrist, preventing him from moving away.

"Sit down, Harry," his voice was low, commanding and as cold as liquid nitrogen. Vernon flared up, roughly seizing his arm and trying to tug him away from the Slytherin heir.

"He's my nephew. I can do what the hell I want with him. You have no right to interfere with my family, boy."

Tom arched his brows, his lips turning into a sneer.

"Then get out of this castle and don't interfere with mine," he said, his voice calm compared to the raging torrent of his magic. Harry glanced at Tom without moving his head. With mine? Huh? Tom's family were dead…he was an orphan - they both were. Vernon seemed to share his confusion.

"I haven't touched your freaky family," he barked. Tom's eyes flicked to Vernon's fat, chubby fingers, still clamped around his arm and then back to the senior Dursley's face. Vernon spluttered. "His family's dead…you can't be one of them. That, that Vold-what's-his-face killed them."

Any other time, hearing someone call Voldemort Vold-what's-his-face in front of Tom would have been comical. Right now, he felt too sick to laugh. This wasn't supposed to happen. The sausages on his shoulder tightened vicelike, making him wince involuntarily. That would bruise in the morning. Tom stood up as well. Harry couldn't help but notice that the Slytherin was taller than his uncle by at least an inch. At their leader's movement, Abraxas, Zevi. Alphard and Lestrange all rose, their wands drawn.

Harry's mind offered him several vicious expletives. Original death eaters and a family of magic hating muggles = not a good combo.

"Tom…" he warned quietly, through gritted teeth. Tom didn't so much as look at him.

"How long do you plan on protecting them?" he asked instead, his eyes never leaving the older man's features. "They treat you worse than the muggles ever treated me."

"They're family," he protested, not entirely sure on why he was defending the Dursley's himself. Tom seemed to pick up on that, but said nothing. Vernon was watching them uncomprehending.

"You aint family freak," Dudley took the tense silence to speak, unwisely. Tom's gaze flicked to the boy.

Harry suppressed a flinch. He hated them, loathed them - knew the feeling was mutual. But even after all these years that comment never stopped stinging. Amazingly, it wasn't Tom's temper that snapped, but Zevi's.

"Call him a freak one more time and I swear to god I'm going to kill you."

Harry's eyes widened. With his magic sizzling, he wrenched out of both holds: Tom's and Uncle…no., not Uncle, Vernon's. He spun to stand between them.

"No one is killing anybody," he hissed, staring at the lot of them. He looked directly at his aunt. "I think you should leave," he said quietly.

"After all the trouble you've given us?" Vernon blustered. "I don't think so. We don't want anymore. No sir. The old man said that if we took you in for one more week then we would never have to see you again," now he sounded triumphant. The old…Dumbledore. Pain flashed through him; pain and fury. He glanced up the Head Table. So that was why no one, student or teacher, was intervening. But what was the purpose behind it all?

Dumbledore stood up, his eyes twinkling and a small smile on his face.

"I think there's been a horrible misunderstanding here." The twinkle vanished. "Mr Dursley, Mrs Durlsey, Harry m'boy - if I could just talk to you all for a moment?"

There was a dead silence.

Tom's expression was blank, his eyes glittering with rage. "If you could just sit down Mr Riddle?" Dumbledore continued.

A smile graced the future Dark Lord's face.

"Why don't you make me?"

Things went very fast from there.

AN: Ugh. Exams. Writer's block. Crappy HP writing skills. I'm sorry. I hope you somehow managed to enjoy this garbage, please review with your comments anyhow. Ugh.


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter 23: (Tom's POV)

He ducked instinctively, feeling a stunner brush the top of his head. He spelled a protego and several more…effective wards into place immediately. He felt a snarling hiss slip passed his lips. He yanked Harry behind him - easily - martyr really was too light. The dark haired boy's eyes widened slightly at the swift, abrupt movement.

"To-""-You really think you can handle two wars at once, old man?" he sneered. "You're already losing one." Dumbledore regarded him coldly, no sign of a twinkle present.

"Let him go," the old man ordered. He glanced at Harry, then arched his brows at Dumbledore.

"Should have kept him while you could," he replied icily.

"He needs to speak with family!"

"He _needs _someone to actually fight his bloody corner for once," Zevi snarled. "Instead of sending him to fight a war with no help as if he's the messiah and hoping he'll come out alive, cause then you won't have to get your own grubby hands dirty."

"I have his best interests at heart! I have my utmost confidence in Harry," Dumbledore said calmly, only his hard features betraying his rage.

"His best interests?" Tom repeated mockingly. "Repeat that will you? How does sending him to live with a pack of filthy worthless magic phobic bastards count as his best interests? How does expecting him to win a war with no training count as his best interests?"

"He'll do fine -"

"No, scratch that," Tom continued thoughtfully, his expression lethal. "How does screwing up my bloody campaign, letting me go insane when you know damn well that you could have done something, painting me as the personification of evil and, to top it off, setting a child up to be your soldier, count as Harry's best interests?"

"Not a child," Harry muttered. He almost smiled.

"Well?"

"It's not like that. He is needed to win this war. It's for the greater good -"

"-Oh, here we go," Abraxas chimed in resignedly.

"- I hardly believe that you're here, shall we say, to protect Harry's best interests, yourself?" Dumbledore finished, whittling his words to cut like a blade. Harry's eyes flicked to him, then uncertainly back to the old man. Crap.

"Evading the question, gramps?" he questioned delicately. "No, I'm not here simply to protect Harry's interests…but nor am I pretending to be. What does that say to you?" he directed the enquiry to the green-eyed enigma, who stared at him for a moment. "What is this, a custody battle?" he quipped weakly. Tom felt a smirk tug at his lips. Oh, if only he knew. Despite how Harry could act like a hardened war veteran, he could still be so endearingly innocent…

"Mr Potter. I must insist that you talk to your family," Dumbledore stated firmly. "You need to go home with them for a while."

"No," Harry said flatly, aghast. "Why should I?"

"The wards need to be updated. So then the house can be used as a Headquarters when your relatives move to the states."Was this some kind of joke? Harry's eyes had frosted over.

"Great," he bit out, through gritted teeth. "Of course I'll just up and jump whenever you tell me to sir, in the middle of exam year, without forewarning," he said sarcastically.

"I knew you'd understand," the old man smiled.

Tom however, kept his eyes on Harry. He could feel the emerald-eyed boy's magic swelling, snapping self-implemented restraints. He almost laughed. It was growing subtly darker, the light and the dark meshing to form one single stormy grey. It was beautiful.

"So, basically, this is the bit where I pick a side, right?" Harry asked lightly. Everyone went very still. Tom flicked his eyes to Harry's face, but found that he couldn't read it.

Dumbledore frowned.

"You're the boy-who-lived Harry, you're already on a side. What are you talking about?"

Harry's head tilted, dangerously. Then he smiled, beamed actually. It was quite a dazzling grin, but not particularly pleasant if you thought to look beneath its exterior.

"Thanks sir! You've just made this a lot easier." Harry took a step forward. Tom forced his features to remain blank, expressionless. He really didn't want to kill the boy if he decided to mould into the light's perfect little warrior. Make or break.

"I'm glad to help," Dumbledore smiled. "So, you'll go with your relatives then?"

"Sure!" Harry said cheerfully. Dumbledore shot him a smug look, making him want to claw something. He waited for Harry to finish, sensing he wasn't done. "As soon as the date hits 'never'."Dumbledore's eyes widened.

"Harry, m'boy?"

"I'm not your boy. I'm not your savoir. I'm not your tool. I quit."

Harry's POV

"I what?" Dumbledore spluttered. "You can't just quit!"

He coolly regarded the man he'd once seen as Grandfather, his features cold and his insides hurt. He'd gone too far this time.

"I just did," he spat.

"Does that mean your on our side now?" Alphard asked bluntly. He glanced at Tom, smiling.

"Nope."

Tom smiled, just slightly.

"I give it until the end of the year."

"You do that."

"Playing hard to get doesn't suit you."

"I'm sure I'll live."

The smile became just a fraction more pronounced. He grinned.

"Harry, I really must protest -" Dumbledore began.

"What are you all talking about!" Vernon suddenly roared. "Sides? Warriors? Soldiers? You're all insane."

Everyone's heads turned to watch the huffing, red-faced muggle.

"Can we celebrate?" Zevi asked him innocently. "That you've, no pun intended, seen the light?"

"Do what you will," he replied. "But I still stand by the fact that you can't torture my relatives."Vernon's face went white. Tom looked at the muggles for a moment, then at him.

"Pity…not even a little bit?"

"Nada."

"But why?" Alphard whined, a malicious grin on his face. The Dursley's took a step back. "They'd make such good toys."

"I really, I don't -" Vernon fell silent. "Freaks," he spat.

After everything, Tom's temper snapped.

"Harry, define torture for me?" he asked coldly, his wand in his hand. The Dursley's took a step forward.

"Mr Riddle -"

"No pain, be it mental or physical. No accidents that mysteriously lead to torture or them falling down the stairs and dying. No asking or hinting or implying that anyone else should torture them for you. Er…no killing. I think that's it?"Tom smiled, chillingly.

"Great." His wand flicked out, a bright light smacking into Dudley. Dumbledore, abruptly, took a startled step forward. There were many horrified gasps - this was Tom.

The next second, the hall broke into laughter.

Dudley had gained the attributes; nose, skin, hair etc…of little miss piggy. He bit back a snort.

"My baby!"

Tom eyes were icy, dangerous, as he looked between the muggles.

"Get out of my sight, muggle, or line up."

AN: Well, here we go. I hope its not too much of a disappointment. Check out my companion fic - Destiny's Darling. Thank you so much for all your reviews! And enjoy - The Fictionist.


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

"You're not seriously leaving the light side?" a familiar voice screeched. Harry sighed inwardly - it would have been too much to ask to avoid confrontation. Slowly, he turned to face Ginny, a sharp retort on his tongue. "I thought you loved me!"He stared at her, aghast, any response dying on his lips. What? When had he…oh crap. She was crying. "You traitor!"

"I…" he honestly didn't know what to say.

"Well. I can tell you Mr Harry Potter!" she sobbed, pointing a trembling, accusing finger at his chest. "If you love me you'll stay. You take one more step and don't accept to be welcomed back into Gryffindor ever again!"

He stared at her, completely bemused. Death Eater comments he could make sense of, anger at his 'betrayal', but this? What was this? Had he started dating the youngest Weasley without his own knowledge?

"Ginny!" The rest of the red headed clan present protested. Namely; Ron and the Twins.

"Fine," he said stiffly. "I'll have my trunk then." The banshee like wailing stopped, as Ginny stared incredulously. She obviously expected him to pine for forgiveness.

"You're dumping me?" she sniffed. They were never together! Had she taken to a confundus to the head or something? "Wow, that's really nice of you snake. Lead a girl on and then ditch her, just like you're ditching the light. The wizarding world needs you! How can you abandon them?"

"The wizarding world shouldn't get off their lazy asses instead of leaving everything to a fifteen year old then, shouldn't they?" he spat. "I'm sick of being used. I also don't believe I said anything about joining the dark side."

Her expression morphed to anger.

"Yeah, well it's obvious you will. How can you treat me like this? I've done everything for you! What, are you gay or something?" she shrieked. He blinked once. Then twice.

"Where the hell did that come from?" he demanded.

"HIM!" Ginny pointed hysterically at Tom. "You're always with him! You don't even look at me! I've never even see you express interest in a girl." Oh.

"I'm not gay!" he yelped. He glanced at Tom, who was staring at Ginny with his normal unreadable expression. Harry thought he could detect a hint of something there though - amusement? Horror? Annoyance? Surprise?

"Then why are you always with him? You're always trading stupid little glances and stuff! It's sick! He murdered your parents."Maybe it was all the stress catching up with him, but he couldn't help himself.

He started to laugh.

This was ridiculous. Out of all the consequences he had expected from his switch, this definitely wasn't one of them. Tom eyes flicked to him, then back at Ginny. A cruel smirk twisted his lips for a moment.

"Jealous, blood traitor?"

Harry's laughter abruptly stopped. Was this a joke? He glanced uncertainly at the Slytherin heir. Tom grinned at him.

"Are you?" he spluttered. "I mean…it's fine if you are, I just…"

Zevi seemed to take pity on him.

"Tom's straight. Don't worry about your virtues little lion, he's just messing with you."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. That would have just been weird.

"You've gone really quite red Harry," Tom noted evilly.

"I hate you."

"Oh, I'm wounded. I thought we had some…chemistry Harry! I thought you loved me!" Tom mimicked Ginny's gushing voice.

"Shut up."

"I could make toast on your cheeks."

"Never become a comedian. You're just not funny," he hissed. The tension in the room was abruptly draining away as everyone watched them with entertainment. Ginny looked peeved.

"He's joined the Dark Side and all you can do is smile, what are you people?" she screamed, glaring at everyone around her before storming out the great hall. Harry couldn't bring himself to care. All he could think and feel was shock and the horrible flames rising off his skin. He wanted to crawl in a hole, and die. Then the ground could eat him. He covered his face with his hands.

"That really is a spectacular red. Something you're not telling us?" Abraxas questioned innocently. That was the thing about being the only lion in a bunch of snakes - you got teased mercilessly.

"M not gay," he mumbled. "And I don't fancy Tom. He's an arrogant prat."

"They always say that there's a thin line between love and hate," Alphard remarked, sounding suspiciously like he was trying to stop laughing. Harry narrowed his eyes dangerously.

"Will you guys cut it out?"

"But you're so cute when you blush," Tom cooed mockingly. "It's adorable."

That was it. His wand was out in a flash. The laughter stopped as his magic crackled.

"You have five seconds to run," he warned.

They exchanged looks, then muffling snickers, fled.

"I love you too Potter!"

"GO BURN IN HELL RIDDLE!"

His life was a nightmare.

AN: I'm in a bit of a block for this story again, so have a mini chapter. I hope it's okay, but I figured I'd add a bit of humour (hopefully it isn't completely pathetic). Hope you managed to enjoy it. Note, this is still not a slash. - The Fictionist. 


	26. Chapter 25

Chapter 25 (Tom's POV): 

This was excellent. Phase one was successfully complete…Harry had left the Light side. Now, for phase two - give him no reason to go back. He liked the boy, he really did, and he certainly didn't want to wage war and kill him. Still, he would not stand for Harry working against him…if it came back to that he would step in. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that. He just had to be careful, subtle. After all, if he couldn't have Harry, no one else was allowed to either. Harry carried _his _mark and he didn't give up what belonged to him very easily. He suppressed a smile: Harry would have a fit to be thought of as a belonging. The boy had a very strong will - just like him. Maybe that was why Harry had always been his favourite.

He didn't want to quench that spirit, no, definitely not. He, to even his own surprise, didn't want Harry on his knees calling him lord and master. He had - dare he say it? - grown fond of the emerald eyed snake lion. His presence was…liberating. He didn't give a damn if Tom relaxed when they were alone, he wasn't constantly looking for weakness. He didn't care for societies rules, only his own. Harry was freedom in all of its connotations, he would never get rid of that. He did however want Harry to stand with him. He enjoyed the boy's company…but that didn't mean he wouldn't take control. He certainly wasn't the type to change for anyone, even Harry James Evans Potter. Not really, anyway.

Tom slipped down the corridors, as silent as a ghost. He could hear voices - Zevi and Harry. He was about to walk out when something stopped him, melding him to the shadows. They were talking about him.

"Can't or won't?" Harry asked. Zevi stared at the smaller teen.

"Both," he said quietly. "Tom isn't…I don't suppose you realise how lenient he is with you?" He saw Harry shift slightly, his expression guarded.

"What do you mean?" Zevi sucked in a shaky breath.

"When Tom's with you he's…different, better. He's everything that you see in him. With us, he's…well, lets just say that he's earned his reputation that you don't cross him."

Zevi was so dead.

"I -""-The point is, Harry. You're not always around, you don't see everything about him, you can't. He's protected around you, he doesn't act the same as he might do when you're not there…" there was a pause. "I know you say that he's not Voldemort, and I agree, but he's not as good guy and innocent as you might let you believe. He's dangerous. I hope you understand that."  
"I do," Harry said seriously. "Don't worry about it." Zevi had a strange expression on his face.

Okay, this was enough.

"Spreading gossip about me, Prince?"

Harry's POV

His head whipped up, alarmed. Oh lord, how much of that had Tom heard. Tom's face was carefully unreadable, but his eyes were as cold as ice. Instinctively, he shifted in front of Zevi.

"Tom…"

"I'm not talking to you, Harry," Tom said. His voice was soft and smooth, just like always. He set his jaw stubbornly. "Zevi, if I could have a word?" It was phrased as a question, but it wasn't, not really. Harry's eyes narrowed.

"What is your problem? You can't just ream somebody in for talking to me. Just because I'm not on the light side anymore, that doesn't mean I'm on yours either. You don't control me."

Tom's jaw tightened slightly, his eyes snapping away from Zevi. Harry nudged him, silently suggesting that now would be a good time to get away. Zevi did just that, disappearing down the corridor. Harry could feel adrenaline and guilt coursing through his veins. If Zevi got in trouble with Tom for helping him…

It had been such a long time since he had properly argued with Tom, it seemed alien almost. Was Zevi right? Was Tom really that lenient with him?

"You would trust Zevi's word over mine?" Tom queried delicately, a hurt look on his face. Oh damn it…was he actually hurt or was he just being manipulated?

"I form my own opinions," he replied, cautiously. Tom stared at him for a moment, his gaze probing, assessing, analysing.

"Really, because that's not what it looked like to me," Tom answered, a hint of ice weaving into his tone. His expression had steeled. "Yesterday, you were leaving the light side…joking…everything like that. Now, well, look at you. You're watching my every move like you expect me to choke you in your sleep."

"Just because I know you're not Voldemort that doesn't mean I don't believe that you have ulterior motives, I've always made that very clear," he finished pointedly. "What are you getting so riled up about? Unless he's _touched a nerve._"

Tom moved fast, unbelievably fast, slamming him up against the wall. He was almost starting to regret taking the heat from the Prince heir.

"You would prefer me like this?" Tom hissed, very close to his face. "Is that what you're looking for? Some confirmation?"

"Get off me…"

"If you have some complaint, do me the favour and say it to my face. It's rude to talk behind a person's back. I don't believe I've ever pretended to be something I'm not with you."

"Are you telling me Zevi is right?" he asked testily. Tom arched his brows, letting go of him just as quickly. He straightened slowly, warily.

"I've never pretended to be something I'm not. I'm on the dark side, you know that. I once asked you to do me a favour and tell me if I was wasting my time with you, am I?"

"You want me to join you," Harry realised. Tom smirked, just slightly. "That's what you're doing here."

"Among other reasons," he conceded. Harry blinked once, then twice. Before he could speak, Tom continued. "I'll be frank with you, Harry. I like you, I have no intention of making you a death eater…but yes, I do want you to join me. You're too much of a threat to be allowed to walk unchecked."

Harry could feel his heart thumping a samba. He felt like such an idiot! Of course that was Tom's reason for being here! What else could it have been?

"On the same vein, Harry," Tom smiled softly. "I'm only doing the same as you are."

"I'm not trying to convert you," he started, before pausing. Tom smirked.

"You're trying to prevent me from being Voldemort…you're trying to persuade me to change my views. Treat others as you would like to be treated. I'll see you at dinner."

Well hell.

(Tom's POV)

That had been a bit of a hurdle…but by the look on Harry's face and the fact he hadn't exploded, he would say that he handled it pretty well. Of course, he'd never planned to be honest…but maybe it was better this way. It would get him some more points when everything came to light. He wanted Harry on his side as Harry, not as some bubble wrapped idiot who had to be treated like glass. Not that he didn't plan on handling his fellow parslemouth carefully…still, Harry trusted him, jokes aside. He'd listened.

That had been too close, anyhow. He needed to have a little chat with Zevi on keeping his mouth shut.

Yes, everything was falling into place.

AN: Well, here we go. Enjoy? Thanks so much for all the reviews, they have kept me going! Much appreciated… - The Fictionist 


	27. Chapter 26

Chapter 26 (Lestrange's POV):

He cowered slightly, a sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach under the hard scrutiny of those old blue eyes.

"You were supposed to dissuade him from joining the dark side Cygnus," the old man stated softly.

"H-he's not on the dark side, sir!" he offered quickly.

"He's not on the light, is he?" Dumbledore sounded sad. "You've disappointed me. Surely you understand that this is for the greater good? Do you _want _Tom to simply…neglect you? Because that's what he's doing!"

"No," he said. "I -I just…I don't think this is a good idea! I want out! Tom will kill me if he finds out!"

"Then it would be a great pity if he were to receive an anonymous tip off, wouldn't it? If Voldemort wins, the world as we know it will be destroyed…your comfortable pure blood life would be gone. I need Harry to end it, he's the only one who can. He must kill Voldemort."

He was going to throw up, fear worming into his heart.

"I'm doing what I can, sir! They just…they're closer than I imagined!"

"What exactly are you doing, Cygnus m'boy? Because it doesn't seem to be working…"

"I - I spilled coffee on him."

"You spilled _coffee _on him? And how exactly is that beneficial to our plan? I thought I could trust you…" the old man twirled his wand, almost idly.

"You can trust me!" he panicked. "Of course you can! I'll get it done! Harry will return to the light…and then…then you'll let us go and let history run its path?"

"Of course. It is a dangerous thing to meddle with time." Yes, it was. Harry should never have come! He was doing this for the greater good! He was saving Tom from his own weakness - then once the boy was gone, he, Cygnus Lestrange, would be his lord's favourite once more. Harrison Evans, Potter…he was just messing everything up! He was merely trying to let history run its natural course. He had been chosen.

"Now that we've got rid of business…would you like a lemon drop? You still have much to learn so you might as well get comfortable."

Knowledge was power…and he wanted power. If Tom Riddle refused to fall in place…well, they'd soon see who would be calling the other my lord, wouldn't they?

(Harry's POV)

He sat up with a jerk, dark thoughts of dark mysterious corridors lingering in his mind. Voldemort was looking for something…something behind that door? But what was it.

Tom's eyes flicked to him. He must have dozed off in the common room. He was more tired than he thought…he must have been. That, or the connection was growing. He now stayed at the Slytherin common room…it wasn't official…it had just sort of come about as true to Ginny's declaration, he was no longer welcome in Gryffindor. Of course, it wasn't everyone. Hermione, the Weasleys (barring Ginny) Neville, Dean, the Quidditch team…they still supported him.

The other's, led by Ginny and Mclaggan most noticeably didn't. Nonetheless, it was easy to say he didn't really want to go and be cursed. It wasn't like he spent every waking hour in the snake's common room…but he slept there…after Tom had threatened him bodily harm if he didn't comply. Then Tom found out about the nightmares and how they hadn't stopped…which hadn't been pretty. Things were still a little tense between them, but okay generally.

"Alright?" the Slytherin heir questioned. He shook his head.

"I'm fine," he said automatically, flashing Tom a smile. Tom's eyes narrowed.

"Vision or nightmare?" he asked simply. Harry paused, he wasn't sure if he loved Tom for being the only one to see him crying behind his smiles, or hate him. They stared at each other for a moment. His head was throbbing something awful, like someone was ramming a sledgehammer across his mind.

"Vision, I think," he replied finally. Tom's head tilted in thought.

"Corridor with a door at the end?"

Harry started, just slightly, his brow furrowing.

"That's the one…?"

"Snap," Tom smiled grimly. "Must have been some vision if I'm getting the backlash of it."

Harry made a noise of agreement, his eyes flicking over Tom.

"What's the book?" he asked instead. He really didn't want to talk about it, it was probably nothing…which sounded lame even to himself. But he wasn't on the light, but he wasn't on the dark either so it wouldn't be right to discuss it.

"Rise and Fall of the dark arts."

"Seriously?" he arched his brows. Tom rolled his eyes.

"Just because you happily walk across a different time period with only a vague knowledge of current events and no proper cover story, that doesn't mean I would do the same."

Fair does…Harry shrugged it off, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He couldn't help but notice that Tom hadn't gone back to his book yet, which could only mean one thing:

"Okay, what do you want?" he asked.

"What?" Tom questioned, seeming to snap out of his thoughts. "What makes you think I want anything? You wound me."

"Your middle name is want and desire…and you have that expression on your face."

"My middle name is Marvolo - surely you should know that, Harry?" Tom smirked. He narrowed his eyes.

"It's a figure of speech," he huffed. Tom favoured him with a slightly amused, unreadable look.

"Come here."

"I-_what?_" he asked. Whatever he was expecting, that wasn't it.

"Come here," Tom repeated calmly, making a gesture at the sofa seat next to him.

"Why?"

"Do you always question every single order or instruction you are given, or am I just a special occasion?"

"You're special. I'm keeping your huge ego from inflating further," he replied promptly, without thought. "You should know that by now." He could have sworn that Tom almost smiled. In the end though, he simply inclined his head at the seat.

Warily, Harry rose and walked over and sat down. "I hope you're not going to have some deep mushy conversation here…are you under polyjuice?" he asked suddenly. This time, Tom went a step further then smiling and almost started to laugh.

"Not that I'm aware of," he remarked dryly. A hand shifted to rest on his shoulder, causing him to jerk at the sudden movement. Tom paused, but then let his hand rest there.

"What are you -" he began, before falling silent as the pain his head coalesced before fading completely. "What are you doing?"

"Paradox Potter," Tom said shortly, looking down at his book once more. He waited for further explanation, but the Slytherin heir simply continued reading calmly.

"Care to elaborate on that?" he questioned. Tom sighed, sounding long suffering.

"I'm shall we say the…original soul out of both of us (my future self and I) so I've got something of an advantage, shall we say. Seeing as we have the same soul though, it creates a paradox, and because I'm the 'dominant soul' that means he can't come anywhere where I am."

"You're in my head?" he demanded, alarmed.

"Is that the only part you got?" Tom answered, somewhat exasperated. He shook his head, not speaking for a moment.

"Why?"

"You need sleep…without nightmares or visions."

"Why do you care?" he elaborated.

"Because your magic is straining from exhaustion and liable to lash out if you don't give it some rest. It's irritating to sit next to."

Okay…well hell, never look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I hope you enjoy being a pillow then," he said smartly, abruptly shifting away from the hand and putting his head to rest across Tom's lap instead. Riddle went completely still.

He grinned.

"_Disrespectful twit." _

"_But I thought you loved me…"_

"_Just shut up and go to sleep."_

(Tom's POV

)He regarded the sleeping boy in bemusement. He hadn't expected Harry to actually take him up on that. Oh well, it worked for him. The more points, the more trust Harry had in him, the easier this whole thing would be. Not to mention…the link was open. It wasn't taking advantage, Harry hadn't asked about what effects deliberately causing that paradox would have, had he? That, and the magic really was irritating. It made him skittish and jumpy as his own aura reacted to it. Presides, he wouldn't wake up for a while and he needed to have a private conversation with his followers. Harry did need the sleep, so he wasn't exactly doing anything wrong, was he? The idiot didn't even question what he said about souls. He smiled, tucking the corner of his page in the book. He had disquised it as the rise and fall of the dark arts, but it wasn't. This book was rare - Secrets of the darkest art.

Afterall, with all this talk of timetravel, his own time had been flittering in his head.  
And that was when he dicovered horcruxes.

The door opened as the figures walked in.

AN: I'm SORRY! That was…actually I'm not going to say that, despite it being the truth, because certain people will flame my self confidence issues. Eek. Anyway, have an update. I was going to do PP, but it's on the over computer. Expect it soon anyway, as I'm about 3 quarters through the next update. Well, thanks for all the reviews. Enjoy?


	28. Chapter 27

Chapter 27 (Zevi's POV)

He entered the common room with some trepidation, only pausing for the slightest moment at the sight that he was greeted in. Alphard wasn't so accepting.

"Err…may I ask why Harry is laying across your lap, fast asleep?" he asked.

"No," Tom replied, gesturing them to their seats. They all sat down, automatically.

"What did you do to him?" Zevi asked, cautiously. Tom's eyes drifted down to the emerald eyed boy, his long fingers idly twirling through the raven locks.

"He's merely sleeping," his lord replied quietly. He couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. He suspected that Tom did care for Harry, hell - his uncharacteristic lenience showed something, but that didn't mean he wouldn't lash out at him if pushed. That didn't mean Harry couldn't get himself killed along with the rest of them if he decided to fall back on the golden boy persona.

In some ways, he was both more protected and more vulnerable…protected because he'd somehow managed to make the Slytherin heir care…and vulnerable because of that. If Tom hated, he hated to the extreme of murder, if he cared…he did that to the extreme too. Harry didn't seem the type to take too kindly to be bubble wrapped.

He had Tom's interest, and while that could keep you alive, gaining Tom's attention was also a sure way to gain yourself a ticket to meet the reaper. It…worried him. With Tom's personality this was going to go one of three ways…a war, Harry's death or Harry's immortality.

He hoped everything would work out.

(Harry's POV)

He could feel himself slowly coming to consciousness, hear the slow murmur voices above his head and something warm. That had probably been the best rest he'd had, that wasn't potion induced, in years.

"Forgive me, but do you really think Harry's going to go along with that?"

All sense of sleep left him, but he kept his breathing slow and even and his eyes shut. They were talking about him.

"What makes you think he'll have a choice?" Tom's voice was cold, with only the faintest trace of amusement. "By the time he finds out it will be too late for him to do anything about it."

"He's not going to like it," Abraxas murmured.

"I don't care if he likes it or not. He'll have to deal with it."

Harry had to bite his tongue to stop himself from snapping a retort at that. Nonetheless, Tom stilled. He could feel the teenage Dark Lord burning holes onto his face. He cursed himself for reflexively tensing.

Oh crap.

"Don't you know that it's rude to eavesdrop on private conversation?" he asked softly. Harry, knowing the gig was up, opened his eyes.

Tom's expression was completely neutral.

"Don't you know that it's rude to discuss a person behind their back?" he retorted, abruptly sitting up.

"Salazar…" Zevi began. "Tom -"

"-Leave us."

"T-"

"That's an order, Prince. Get out, all of you, and make sure that no one comes in," Tom instructed, his voice like venom. "Unless you would prefer to end this holiday early? I brought you here, I can put you back just as easily. Keep your tongues in your mouths."

The death eaters left silently.

They regarded each other silently for a moment. It felt like someone had brutally shoved a piece of ice into his chest.

"How much did you hear?" Tom asked.

"Enough," he replied tightly, reaching for his wand. When his fingers grasped only air, he looked up sharply. Tom smirked, confirming his thoughts on exactly where his wand had gone. 13 inches of yew was drawn from his pocket. Harry's heart beat quickened.

"Why don't we talk about this?" the Slytherin heir suggested smoothly. He shook his head.

"Nothing to talk about," he said coldly. Tom's expression darkened.

"What, are you going to kill me now?" he asked, regarding the wand carefully.

"Do you think I should?" Tom arched his brows, a small smile touching his lips. He levelled the yew in his direction, lazily. Harry, instinctively, took a step back away from the tip. It was pointed straight at his heart, too close range to miss.

"I'd rather you didn't," he said honestly.

"I'd rather I didn't either," Tom said, to his utmost surprise.

"Lower the wand then," he replied, automatically. Tom closed the gap between them, pressing the wand against his heart once more.

"I can't do that."

"Why not?" he asked, studying the elder boy. Strangely, now that it came down to it, he wasn't scared. Not really. Nonetheless, he took another step back…more because he was slightly uncomfortable at the invasion of his space then anything. Tom simply followed him. His back hit something solid, but he didn't dare to look behind him and see what it was.

"Because you wouldn't stay for a second the moment I didn't have you under wand point," he responded coolly. There may have been an element of truth in that…

"What are you up to? What am I not going to go a long with?" he demanded.

"My plans."

He was doing it deliberately now!

"Strangely enough, I got that part," he spat. Tom shook his head, his eyes growing serious.

"Just for the record, I'm sorry."

"For what? Being a lying, cheating bastard?" he hissed. Tom's jaw tightened, before he smiled a singularly dazzling smile.

"No. Not for that. For this - _obliviate._"

The next second there was nothing but blackness.

(Tom's POV)

He stared down at the crumpled boy in front of him, before sighing and scooping him up and sitting down on the same couch as earlier with Harry's head positioned on his lap. He would have to be more careful. Too many memory charms could affect the younger in a more permanent way, and he didn't want that.

Something vaguely like regret tickled the back of his mind, before he brushed it away like a cobweb.

He had Harry's best interests at heart.

Carefully, he picked up his earlier discarded book on Horcruxes.

Before the year was out…everything would have fallen into place.

_AN: I'm sorry, really. I don't know what's wrong with me that was AWFUL. Any ideas on what Tommy-boy is planning? I'd love to hear them ;) Thanks for all the reviews, they've made my day. I hope you managed to enjoy that garbage, rather than feel like you were pulling your teeth out…next update on my list is Past's Player…we'll see how that works out. Thanks. - The Fictionist._


	29. Chapter 28

Chapter 28:

Harry felt warm, contented. There was a peaceful lull in his brain. "Are you awake?" a voice asked softly. He opened his eyes slowly, rubbing the last specks of sleep from them.

"Tom?" he questioned, sitting up. "How long was I out?"

"A couple of hours," the Slytherin heir replied carelessly. "My lap has gone numb, I don't think you realise how heavy your head is - especially when it's supposedly only filled with air." Harry smirked slightly."The dust rabbits breed, didn't you know?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "Are you okay?" Zevi asked quietly. "Fine," he smiled. "That was probably the best amount of rest I've had in months…why do you ask? Has something happened?" the grin faltered. "Zevi's a mother hen, didn't you know?" Tom said seriously, mimicking his earlier town.

The other snakes all laughed. He stared intently at the young Prince heir. Zevi offered him a reassuring smile. He let it go, wondering if he was missing something. It felt like it.

"Sure thing Tommo, we all know that you're a closet romantic and not the heartless robot that you try and pretend you are," he retorted. Tom snorted. "Tell the dust bunnies to live your mind alone, Evans, I don't think you can afford to lose anymore of your limited amount of brain cells to their clutches." "Aw! See, you say the sweetest things," he gushed sarcastically.

He was surprised when Tom never replied.

It was some days earlier, right before the cusp of Halloween, that the package arrived to his dormitory. It was a simply brown package, neatly wrapped with string and with nothing all that distinguishing about it. Hedwig brought it in. There was no name on the front, no indication who it was from and no handwriting to give any form of indication about who the sender may be. Just a H. A black, block capital H that left much to be desired in the way of information.

It lay innocently on his bed, half hidden from sight from where his owl had abruptly dropped it some five minutes later. He was unsure whether to open it - it could have been cursed, or a portkey or…he sounded paranoid even to his own ears, or was it mind?

In the end, curiosity won out.

After casting several tentative spells to try and check for any possible harmful elements, he carefully pulled off the string with a satisfying thwack. The brown paper was rough and thick beneath his fingers, the package small and hard. There was a small black box inside, with a small note strapped onto the top, folded several times in half until it was maybe the side of the fifty pence piece that Ron had once found so fascinating. He glanced around, the picked the prised the note from beneath the string and unfolded it.

_Good luck, a friend. Use it well. _

Well, that was helpful. The message was written in block capitals too, nothing to distinguish it - not even a special type of pen or anything else that he could use to play detective. The note was also written on simple standard parchment.

It was frustrating. He opened the box, then blinked once, twice. Nestled in the thick, velvety material within was a small round object. A remembrall.

Okay. Now he felt slightly weirded out.

AN: I'm sorry, it's only short and it's probably not that good, but I figured it was better than nothing? *looks hopeful*. I'm hoping the writing FF bug will pick up again with the recesses of my soul - currently, I've been doing a lot of poetry. It's quite cool actually, however lame it sounds, I enjoy it. Check me out at ?m=1&do=profile&who=13338 

Anyhow, thanks for all the great reviews and the support and the alerts and favourites and everything. Much appreciated. This is for you. I hope you enjoyed it and that I didn't disappoint too terribly. 


	30. Chapter 29

Chapter 29:

"Someone sent you a rememberall?" Hermione asked, "how odd - do you have any idea who? Or why?"

Harry shrugged, turning the ball over in his hand. It was red. Always red.

"Not a clue, and I can't remember what I'm forgetting…"

"Maybe you're forgetting something is forgetting something," Ron grinned. He smiled slightly, that was pretty unlikely.

"Maybe," he conceded, frowning slightly.

That red cloud, swirling inside the ball was really bugging him now. Really bugging him. It had to be important, why else would he be given a rememberall with its very own cryptic message? He just wished he could remember what this very important thing he'd forgotten was.

"Since when have you had a rememberall?" a familiar voice asked. He looked up, Tom. He shrugged.

"Since last night," he said. "Beats me."

Tom stared at the ball for a moment.

"May I?" the Slytherin held out a hand.

Something inexplicable made him hesitate.

He could feel the teenage Dark Lord's eyes burning his skin with their intense scrutiny. Feigning light heartedness, he handed it over. There was just something about Tom in that moment that felt…different. Dangerous. Of course, Tom was Tom and Tom always had a slight air of danger around him at all times, but this was more pronounced.

"Any idea what I might have forgotten?" he question, watching the dark haired boy carefully. Tom's eyes flicked to him, then back at the ball.

"Your brain cells?" he replied, smirking. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, you're hilarious," he retorted sarcastically. Tom grinned disarmingly at him, with a wolfish flash of white teeth.

"I know."

He surveyed the rememberall for another moment, before abruptly tossing it back. It was an awkward throw, and it was only due to being a seeker that the little ball didn't smash into the table. He felt a strange unease growing in his chest, nothing to do with it being the day before Halloween, though that left him feeling slightly off too. He hated Halloween. Something bad always happened, and he hated being forced to celebrate on the night of his parents death besides. A shock of ice run through his blood, a chill. He stared thoughtfully at the rememberall, then up at Tom. Those eyes were dark, so dark. Abruptly, he smiled and pocketed it.

"Probably someone's idea of a joke," he dismissed carefully.

"Indeed," Tom said softly. "Probably best not to dwell on it Harry."

Soon it was evening. He was in the Slytherin common room. The rememberall was still red, like a flame or trapped in a vase. The nagging feeling of forgetfulness wasn't going away. Angrily, he shoved the offending ball back into his pocket. Half of him just wanted to smash the wretched orb against the wall, another small part of him stayed his hands with a lingering unease.

"You're on edge," Tom remarked idly. "Nightmares?"

He glanced up. The light of the fire seemed to make Tom look older somehow, make the lines of his face seem sharper and harsher, colder. He could just sense the magic flittering around the older boy, dark, even now.

He wasn't sure if it was alluring or repelling, which scared him more than the actual magic. Half of him wanted to run screaming from the sheer endless danger lurking beneath the surface of Tom's every move. The other half was drawn to it, addicted to the danger, wanting to get closer to the raging tempest.

It was kind of fascinating. He shook his head, getting slightly worried about himself. Tom had that quality that Voldemort didn't. The elder was terrifying, of course he was, but he was utterly repulsive. Tom sucked you in like a cold black hall, mesmerising darkness yet glittering with everything he drew in.

"It's Halloween tomorrow," he replied.

"Should we try not to kill each other this time?" Tom asked. Harry wasn't sure if he was amused, or completely serious. Tom was a hard one to read

"That could be an idea," he said, pretending to consider it. Tom smiled wryly, before his eyes flashed with a change of focus, an idea.

"I was wondering…" Tom paused. This alone made him wary. Any hesitation from Tom was ominous, it normally meant that even the master of masks wasn't completely sure how he would react. He tensed minutely, stilling and flipping his gaze up once more.

"What?" he asked, glad that his voice didn't betray him by shaking or quavering.

"Would you care to visit Godric's Hollow with me?"

You what?

AN: Aloha, it's me again. Are you sick of my crappy writing yet? Well…anyhow. Thanks for the reviews everyone =) They make me smile. Its nice to know that you're all still sticking with me and this mess of a fic, much appreciation. It's still short, but it was longer than last time…which is something, right? Anyway. I hope you enjoyed the update.


	31. Chapter 30

Chapter 30: 

As Harry stood in the entrance hall, awkwardly, as most people filed past to go the feast, he wondered why the hell he'd agreed to visit Godric's Hollow with Tom. Well, he knew why, but…was he insane? Quite possibly.

It just felt…nice that someone had bothered to ask. He had never seen his parent's grave, he'd wanted to, but he'd never…no one had ever asked him if he wanted to. No one had offered to go with him - not even Remus. They just seemed to assume that he would rather be at the feast, or hell, maybe they didn't think of it at all. He twisted his fingers nervously.

It did feel strange, in a good way (if that made any sense!) that Tom was coming with him. Of course, Tom probably had his own agenda, as always, but he could pretend…he'd never wanted to go alone. It was daunting. He'd never wanted someone to gush at him about the night either, it wasn't wonderful or great or brilliant. It was just…Tom wouldn't make it awkward. He wasn't the type. He had a shared history too, in a way, it was a place of unfinished business for both of them.

"Harry," a voice greeted softly. He only flinched slightly. It was an achievement. He hated Halloween and was always on edge, especially around Tom. He normally ended up with someone trying to kill him. It was a reasonable paranoia to have.

"Tom," he said quietly. He felt the Slytherin's eyes resting on him, assessing and searing straight through to his soul.

"You ready to go?" he asked. Harry shrugged.

"Are you?" he returned. Tom was silent.

"Let's go. We're taking the knight bus," he said finally.

They hopped off, at the gates of the small wizarding village. Harry decided he didn't like the Knight bus much. At least Stan and Ernie had stopped blathering on about how awesome Halloween was and stuff and how good it was to see you again 'Arry after Tom had death glared them - the Slytherin heir had a serious basilisk's stare when he wanted to. The wind caressed the side of his face, icy like a ghost. It was a cold night. It was already growing dark.

They started walking. Harry, horribly, couldn't help but think that Voldemort must have walked this path all those years ago. He shuddered slightly.

"So, what's the motive?" he asked, to fill the silence. Right now, he didn't want to be alone with those thoughts. Tom glanced at him.

"Motive?" he returned lazily.

"Yeah, motive. Why do you want to see Godric's Hollow, why are you here?" he questioned. Tom was silent a moment, dodging a gaggle of trick or treaters.

"Same reason as you."

"Really?" he said dubiously.

"What reason did you believe me to have?" Tom asked.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I just didn't think it would be to see my parents grave."

Tom smirked.

"You're not interested in the house? The scene of the crime?"

Oh…OH.

"I didn't really think about it," he murmured honestly.

They passed an old war memorial, Harry barely gave it a glance, only stopping when Tom caught his arm, with an uncharacteristic gentleness.

"What?" he asked. Tom inclined his head at the statue, Harry followed his gaze, his eyes widening. It had changed and…he stepped closer, fascinated at the sight of his parents and the baby. "Salazar…" he whispered.

Tom was silent, unobtrusive…and mostly likely brooding. There was a dark tint to his eyes. He stared for another few moments, before shaking his head and continuing. They were going to the graveyard first.

Harry felt numb, staring at the gleaming tombstone. Hollow and empty. He had never felt the loss so much before. This somehow made it hit harder, closer, it made it more real. His heart ached. He realised belatedly that he had no flowers to give. He started as a bouquet of roses and lilies were pressed into his hands. His head snapped up to see Tom's eyes on him, unreadable.

"Thanks," he murmured, embarrassed to find his voice croaky and hoarse. He crouched down, setting the flowers down, tracing the lettering. He shut his eyes, feeling something fiery and hot streak down his cheeks compared to his frozen skin.

"You're crying," Tom stated. Harry's eyes snapped open as slender fingers brushed the wetness from his skin. Tom was looking at the droplets with something akin to fascination in his eyes.

"Yes," he said defensively. "Have you never cried?" Tom looked up at him, from his fingers.

"Not since I was a child, five years old." Tom looked down again, rubbing the moisture from his tears off his fingers. His next words were quiet, so quiet that if he wanted to he could pretend to have not heard them: I'm sorry.

"It's not your fault," he muttered. "You're not him." He could feel Tom's eyes on him, again.

"Nor is it yours," he said.

Harry forced a smile.

"Right pair of misfits we make."

"Indeed," Tom murmured, still watching him intently. He smiled a little more genuinely.

"You can relax Mr Sociopath, I'm not going to cry on you or anything." Tom smiled.

"Oh thank Salazar, I do have a reputation to uphold…" Harry laughed a little, before looking up at the sky and sobering.

What would his parents think of him? Would they be proud? Or would they disown him a traitor and a snake?

"They'd be fools not to be," Tom said quietly."What?" he asked. "Proud. They'd be fools not to be."

"You think?" he asked, not even sure why he was asking Tom - of all people - this, or how he knew of his thoughts.

"Yes."

He was silent for another moment, talking in his head, praying? Tom was quiet too.

"House?" he asked.

"House."

Shit, he felt sick.

AN: So, another update. I hope you enjoyed it and that it wasn't too OOC. Whose POV should the next? Harry's or Tom's? Don't expect my writing to pick up amazingly again, but it seems better than it was before. For now - and that's updating wise. I still stand by that this writing isn't brilliant, but you know =] I suppose it's opinion. Hope I didn't disappoint. Anything you guys would like to see (aside from the obvious kissing etc you slash lover's out there, I'm not a slash writer). And yeah. Ciao for now - The Fictionist.

Thanks for the reviews...

OH, AND LET ME REITERATE THIS! NOT SLASH! NEITHER CHARACTERS (HARRY OR TOM) ARE WRITTEN TO LIKE EACH OTHER IN A ROMANTIC WAY! Hope that clears some doubts up. By all means, slash lovers, ignore that, but this not written as slash, nor will it ever be. Capito?


	32. Chapter 31

Chapter 31: (Tom's POV)

The house was falling into a crumbling state of disrepair, blackened by age and fire. A small shiver ran up his spine, something uneasy.

He could feel a lingering magic of the place pushing at him, furiously, desperately. It was too weak to do anything, and Harry didn't seem to notice. Still, it unsettled him slightly. The wards, broken and battered, knew him. They recognised him for who he truly was, no matter what Harry told himself.

He kept half an eye on the other boy at all times. He was subdued, morose and the air was silent between them, unfilled by quick retorts or sarcastic remarks. It was uncomfortable exactly, but it wasn't there normally surprisingly easy sense of companionship either. He kept quiet, unsure of how to address the boy - which was ridiculous, it wasn't like he was the type to spare Harry's feelings, Harry knew that.

There were pictures and remnants of a long lost life still lingering. A cup of tea, stone cold for years. He felt something odd tug at his insides. It wasn't regret, or pity, but it was something…alien. It was guilt, but it wasn't. It was also awe and a vindictive sense of triumph.

Harry didn't look at him, studying his surroundings with more focus than was entirely necessary. It wasn't just him. This place wasn't sitting right with Harry either, this stillness between them. A lot of it was a wreck, nothing much left, and the building was falling to pieces. It was only by magic that the wood hadn't rotted already.

They started up the stairs.

Tom could feel a sense of anticipation, hungry and eager growing inside his gut. His magic was starting to flitter. Nearly there, nearly there. He was vaguely aware that his older, future self must have walked these very steps, on the same night…but under so different circumstances. He found he didn't really feel anything about that, he couldn't help but wonder if he should have been feeling something more emotive than apathy…indifference. Harry's hand was trembling slightly as he stopped outside the door. He was hesitating, helplessly.

"This was the room," he stated. Tom watched him carefully.

"You remember it?" he questioned. Harry's head tilted just slightly in confirmation and something squeezed at his stomach again, gnawing like some ravenous beast. He took a step forward, not missing how Harry flinched. He felt a small sense of…something when the green eyed enigma didn't move away from him though. Seeing as Harry seemed to be glued to the spot, hesitating unable to move, he took the initiative to push the derelict door aside himself. It would have been a nice house, once. "You can stay outside, if you wish," he said quietly. Harry glanced at him, for the first time, his eyes glowing emeralds in the darkness.

"I'm coming in…I…I have to see," he murmured. Just like him. He had to see too.

He stepped in.

(Harry's POV)

He stepped in after Tom, warily, nausea and sorrow and even a tinge of fear nestling around his heart like a band of ice. Constricting. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but this shattered room wasn't it.

Red and gold paint, peeling off the wall. A cot, absolutely destroyed with shards of wood scattered across the room. Half the room was missing, giving view to the streets and fields beyond. The roof was half torn off, as if ripped away by giant, vicious hands. It looked like it had been hit by a bomb. Or, his mind offered unwelcomingly, a rebounding killing curse.

Green flashed behind his eyelids. Screams echoed in his head. He was only aware of the choked sound that must have come from him, when Tom, a few paces ahead, looked back at him sharply.

"Could do some interior decorating work…" The teenage dark lord stated. Harry wasn't sure whether or not to curse Tom for that comment, or hugged him for breaking that god-awful silence.

"Your face could do with some interior decorating work," he mumbled. Tom arched a brow, but thankfully didn't comment at his abysmal comeback. Harry took a few steps so he was level with Tom. He was almost expecting something momentous happen, like collapsing from a flashback or…something. There was nothing, and it was eerie. He shivered slightly. He could hear their voices, hear his mum pleading for mercy. No, he could just remember them…remember the Dementors. Why couldn't he have some happy family members, god damn it, why!

"Are you okay?" Tom asked.

"Fine," he said automatically, before pausing. "I feel like there should be something more," he admitted.

"Slightly anticlimactic, isn't it?" Tom replied. He glanced at the other boy in surprise; it wasn't just him then? Tom's eyes scoured the room, ruthlessly, then stopped, frozen.

Harry followed his gaze, his fingers clenching slightly. A cloak, black - Voldemort's, undoubtedly. Crumpled by the cot. Tom was by it in seconds, his hand searching the pockets. Harry felt something strike him hard at that, and turned away, feeling sick. Involuntarily, he found his eyes drawn back to the Slytherin heir as he actually retrieved something from the pocket.

"What is it?" he asked, despite himself. Tom held his hand out to show him, before his eyes flicked up to Tom's eyes. "That's…" he began, before stopping. He felt distinctively uneasy.

"A remembrall," Tom said softly. Even as he spoke, the smoke in the orb swirled into a bloody red.

What the hell were they missing?

AN: Well, it's an update, but is it any good? Thanks for the reviews. As always, it's not slash. Hope you guys enjoyed it. Adios - The Fictionist.


	33. Chapter 32

Chapter 32:

"Good Heavens! Where on earth have you two been?"

Harry should have known that he and Tom would not just be able to come back in and head to the common room - no, that was just too much to ask. Tom's eyes were dark as he surveyed the faculty in front of them."Well?" McGonagall demanded. Her eyes were lit with worry. He wasn't angry at her, not really.

"Really Minerva, what do you expect of Mr Potter? When has he ever cared about anyone outside of himself -" Snape sneered.

"-Severus! Enough," his (Head of house?) snapped. Was McGonagall still his head of house, when he slept in Slytherin? Yeah. She was. After all, the alternative would have been the greasy bat and that was not an option he was willing to go with. "Mr Potter, Mr Riddle?" She was eyeing them both with a slight suspicion.

They were silent.

"Boys? Why weren't you at the feast?" Dumbledore's horribly concerned tone of voice made his fists clench. His faux care.

"Surprisingly enough," Harry replied sharply "I didn't actually feel like sitting around drinking pumpkin juice on the anniversary of my parent's murder. Shocking, I know, but…" he trailed off coldly.

If he didn't know Tom extremely well, or have a certain connection with him, he would have caught the slight flash of something that caught the other's lips for a moment. It wasn't quite a smirk but…there was a hint of amused smugness there among other emotions. It was gone in under a second, leaving only the normal polite unreadable mask

McGonagall looked horrified, her face growing a snow white. Snape looked shocked, his black eyes swirling with uncertainty. Harry looked away, feeling uncomfortable.

"You went to Godric's Hollow?" Dumbledore asked shrewdly. "With him?"

"Is there a problem with the fact that he went with me?" Tom replied coolly. Harry could sense the nigh unnoticeable annoyance beneath his words.

"You're Voldemort, are you not?" Dumbledore said cruelly. Harry's magic started crackling.

"He's a bloody teenager you old goat!" he snarled. Tom's eyes shot to his face. He could feel the weight of the scrutiny almost like a physical pressure, probing right at his soul.

"That doesn't make him innocent," the headmaster said quietly. He looked sad, pitying, and Salazar that really rubbed him up the wrong way.

"It does mean that he is not responsible for all the shit that's happened in the last 50 years since it hasn't even happened to him yet," he snapped.

"You're defending him," McGonagall said incredulously. He stared at her, flatly.

"Yes. I am." The fact that he was defending Tom, on Halloween, lay heavily in the air between them.

Finally, they managed to depart.

Tom was surprisingly quiet in the common room, almost subdued. The remembrall was clutched, a smoking red, in his hands.

"What do you think it means?" he asked, taking his eyes away from the fire for a moment. Tom glanced up at him, then down at the orb again.

"Have you figured why you have a remembrall yet?" he asked in return. "Who gave it to you?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "Have you got any ideas?" Tom studied the ball, twirling it idly between his long, slender fingers.

"Remembralls have two purposes," he started, sounding like he was slipping into lecture mode. "The most common, and the most well known, is that the smoke will turn red when you have forgotten something."

"And the other?" he asked. Tom looked up at him again, his eyes sharp. There was an odd expression lurking there, shadowed and hidden behind the all knowing gaze.

"They say that Remembralls can hold memories…secrets that people have forgotten."

"Like if they'd been obliviated?"

"Yes," Tom said.

"So you think it holds Voldemort's forgotten memories?" he questioned. A shiver of unease ran down his spine. Something hit him suddenly, and he realised what was making him uneasy. "Wait, I have one - and it's always red…" he trailed off for a moment. Tom's head tilted slightly. "Does that mean I've been obliviated?"

"You are very eager to think the best of me, Harry," Tom said quietly.

"…is this about what I said earlier?" he asked. "To Dumbledore? Cause your topic changes are giving me whip lash." Tom smirked, slightly, before it faded to seriousness.

"You honestly don't think of me as Voldemort?"

He felt uncomfortable now, having this conversation, on Halloween.

"No. You're Tom Riddle - anyway, what's that -"

"You're an idiot," Tom said softly. He ground his teeth.

"Thanks. We can't all be geniuses." He stood up, irritable now. Tom stood up too.

"As…flattering as your optimism in me is," he began "You're walking a path dangerously close to denial."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"Tom Marvelo Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort."

Harry folded his arms.

"Yeah, I already know all about that anagram," he said tightly. He faked a yawn. "And I think I'm going to catch some zeds -" a vice closed around his arm.

"Harry," he said, sounding slightly amused.

"What?" he tensed, trying to pull the appendage away. Tom's gaze was intent.

"Don't," he said finally. "Don't think so highly of me - at least not in terms of goodness because I am not that person. I don't care about people. The sooner you realise that, the less likely you are to get your hopes crushed." The grip released him.

"So basically I should give up on the idea that you're anything but an evil, psychotic git?" Harry asked flatly. "How did we even get onto this topic?"

"No, I'm telling you not to expect a miracle."

"Yeah, well I'm not."

"Okay then."

"Yeah, it is," he retorted. "And presides, it's not like miracles don't happen."

"Oh?" Tom arched his brows. "When has a miracle ever happened?"

"Well…" he shrugged.

"It's Halloween and no ones tried to kill me. I'd say that was pretty miraculous." He turned and left before Tom could reply.

A/N: Well, here you go. Hope you liked it. =) Thank you so much for all the reviews and stuff!


	34. Chapter 33

_**A/N: Hello, I'm back. After a while. But hey. I hope you guys are still enjoying the story…any suggestions of events etc that you would like to see? Thank you for all the reviews, they make my heart fuzz. Here you go anyhow - The Fictionist**_

**Chapter 33:**

He should have known that it was too good to last. Something bad always happened on Halloween - Tom would be thrilled. This just went to prove that there was no such thing as miracles. Salazar, that was depressing.

He felt hands shaking his shoulders urgently, forcing him into consciousness. Screams ripped painfully from his throat, silencing with a choking sound as his eyes snapped open. His pillow and shirt was stained with blood, his forehead burning white hot. Zevi and Tom were closest to him. He blinked, trying to quell his rising nausea. Death eater raid. The war had officially started - gone public. The Slytherins were all staring at him.

"Thank god," Alphard breathed. "We've been trying to wake you for the last five minutes."

They had? He groaned slightly, feeling woozy. He could feel Tom's gaze piercing at his soul. He leapt up immediately, trying to ignore the way that the world seemed to slip and slide beneath him. Quick as lightning, Tom was in front of him, his grip firm.

"Harry?" he questioned. His eyes shot up. "What is it?" his tone was tight. "You don't normally start bleeding."

"It's not normally a death eater raid," he replied, as calmly as he could.

He sounded composed to his own ears, but on the inside his skin was jerking and twitching, his muscles edgy and his mind unable to settle. He heard an intake of breath around the room and hid a sigh. The nausea bubbled up again as the blood and screams flickered behind his eyes. He had to do something. He just had to - he couldn't just sit here.

"There's a raid going on, now?" Draco asked, a complete absence of arrogance in his voice. Harry could feel the stirrings of pity in his stomach.

"Don't you just love Halloween," he said. He'd meant it to be a drawl, sarcastic and relaxed, but his voice sounded too small and uncertain. God. He hated this. His eyes flicked feverishly around the room, settling on the door. "Don't wait up." This time, he managed the drawl. He pushed past, once more swallowing nausea as the world rocked and destruction swirled behind his eyelids at every waking moment.

"Oh no you don't," Tom snapped, his wand drawn in seconds. It was ridiculous that someone dressed in pyjamas could look so dangerous. He stiffened.

"People are dying," he spat. "I don't expect you to care about that, but I do!"

"It's not your job to run off into a death eater raid in the middle of the night," Tom's tone was one of forced calm. "Go back to bed."

"Same difference. I'm going to end up there anyway aren't I?" he retorted, pointing a finger at the scar. "I'm a walking talking mind link, remember!"

"Funnily enough, I do," Tom sneered. "Considering I'm on one of the receiving ends of it. Tell me, how exactly are you planning on helping 'innocents' when you can't even get close to the fight without falling into my future counterparts mind?" he questioned delicately. Harry glared.

"I'll find a way," he snarled. Tom's aura was beginning to thrum, the darkness growing more pronounced every second. "Excuse me," he said coldly. Tom smiled, mockingly.

"You know you wouldn't last a second away from my magic, don't you?" he replied. "The paradox is the only thing keeping you from dropping to the floor screaming."

"Tom -" Abraxas began, weakly. The Slytherin heir ignored the blonde, pushing the door open with that same mocking expression.

"But by all means, hero," Tom continued, his eyes glittering with some indecipherable emotion. He stormed past, enraged and irritable. His head hurt and his muscles hurt from Voldemort's use of torture curses (and what the hell, why did he have to feel them when they weren't even directed at him?) and he really could NOT be bothered to deal with the young Dark Lord's crap at that moment in time.

"Fine," he snapped. He stifled the gasp as he felt Tom violently draw his own magic back as he left the dormitory. Ow, god. That did hurt. He closed his eyes for a moment against the pain, but continued anyhow. He refused to give Riddle, the bastard, the satisfaction of seeing him suffer.

He was halfway across the common room when he could feel his mind starting to blur, hear battle cries and screams even louder in his mind. He kept flashing to Voldemort. Another body hit the ground in a flash of colour, arcing almost gracefully. He was going to be sick. He could feel himself shaking, as if in trapped in the sways of fever. HE HATED HALLOWEEN. He'd been naïve, too optimistic, in thinking that he could possibly have a Halloween without a near death experience or something horrible happening. His vision was tinting black and he felt his insides twist with desperation and self loathing.

He had to do something, why did he have to be so weak and incompetent that he couldn't even help. He was useless. The Slytherin common was spinning and lurching around him, sickeningly. His head was throbbing. Then there was nothing but death and blood and destruction.

(Tom's POV)

He watched as Harry dropped, somewhere near the door, crumpling like a rag doll. He could feel Zevi's pleading eyes burning into his back and scowled.

"What?" he demanded lowly. Zevi started, looking guilty at being caught in the act, turning his eyes away and looking down at his bare feet in silence. He let his eyes rest, reprimanding, on the other boy, before he crossed the room to where Harry was curled in agony on the floor.

God damn Potter. Such a stubborn, hot headed, noble idiot. He let his magic seep out again, watching impassively as the paradoxical effects of his presence did its work. After a moment, the green eyes opened once more, haunted and guarded, drowning in pain.

"So stubborn," he chided, his voice more gentle than he had initially planned. His anger just seemed to be draining out of him - anger that Harry would always rush off at a moments notice to play superman, perpetually his enemy. And friend, a small voice in his head offered tentatively. He ignored it, as normal. He was a psychopath, and he meant that in the clinical way - he didn't do caring and sharing and he had a far below normal amount of empathy or conscience. But, he did have one - however twisted or small it was. It just didn't normally get a say or mind time. Whatever.

Harry blinked up at him, his emotions tumbling behind his gaze - Tom could feel it as clearly as Harry could feel his future self's. Guilt. Self loathing, so much self loathing. Helplessness. Fury. All so strong that he could almost taste them on his tongue. Sorrow. He was mourning for every life that was lost in the war. Salazar, what a martyr. He was going to get himself killed.

"I have to do something," Harry insisted, his eyes dull and lost. Tom felt something stir in his chest, but it wasn't his heart. Nope. He didn't have one. He'd probably just slept badly or eaten badly or…something.

"I know," he said quietly, and he did. He knew how much Harry wanted to help.

"I hate Halloween," his voice was bitter. Tom felt a smirk curling his lips slightly, not sympathetic but something similar.

"I know," he repeated. Harry stared down at the floor, before looking up with that old determination and steely resolve. He could guess what Harry was going to say before he opened his mouth to speak.

"You want me to teach you occlumency," he stated softly. Oh, the possibilities. Harry looked up at him.

"I know," he mimicked. Tom almost smiled.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow," he said, conjuring a bucket. Harry was looking a little green.

It was going to be a long night.


	35. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34:**

Harry was in a terrible mood that morning.

His head was throbbing like never before, crippling him in agonising waves that left him feeling like his skull had been cracked open. He'd ended up transfiguring himself a pair of dark black sunglasses, because the light aggravated him too much. It had done little to help.

He'd left before any other Slytherin had awoken. So many things were just piling up in a short space of time - leaving the light, Ginny's bizarre reaction (and she hadn't been like that last year? He'd asked Ron to see if he could look into it, because that wasn't normal and she may have been cursed or something. Or maybe seeing Tom and being reminded of her traumatic first year made her snap. Or something.) Godric's Hollow and the weird crap with the rememberalls, and the god-forsaken death list, which Tom still had now he came to think of it.

He had this feeling that Tom knew more about it then he was letting on, with the whole explaining rememberalls holding memories coupled with his intense psyche out stare. It was like he was being tested, somehow, which was really unnerving. Then there was the whole little thing about the Death Eater raid and the war going public. Nothing big or anything. Oh, and the treacherous little snake mark on his arm. He felt it tingle sometimes, but Tom had mainly let it be.

Which was creepy, because Tom wasn't the type not to press on that advantage, and it was a clear advantage because it was pretty damn similar to a dark mark. Salazar. He hated his life sometimes. He sighed heavily, rubbing his head. It all sounded so surreal when he stacked it up like that. There were too many strings left untied…or more like that he hadn't kept track of. Knowing Tom, they weren't untied at all they were coiling silently around him in his distraction, ready to suddenly tighten around him like marionette strings. He stopped in the corridor, shivering at the mental image that gave him. Ominous. Very ominous.

Fate hated him.

There was a dead silence as he walked into the Great Hall for breakfast. The Slytherin's were already at their table, their eyes intense and assessing on his person. Great, more psyche outs. Wasn't he a lucky boy? He wasn't sure if he was annoyed or relieved when the killer migraine building in his head abated slightly - due to Tom's proximity he presumed.

Damn, that was so sickeningly dependant. He was going to have to talk about those Occlumency lessons.

"Mr Potter!" A ministry official bustled over to him immediately, a pad and pen held eagerly in his hands to make records. "We require your assistance." His jaw tightened.

"You require my assistance?" he repeated, coldly, arching a brow. "Finally decided I'm not a lying, insane schizophrenic attention whore? How convenient."

The official spluttered, before making a valiantly pompous effort to compose himself.

"The minister wishes to discuss the events of last year with you, he believes you may hold some valuable information pertaining to possible ways of defeating You-know-who before he can regain full power." The official's expression seemed to suggest he should have been honoured by this, and Harry could immediately feel a strong irritation rising alongside his headache.

This day just kept getting better.

"Then by all means, he can contact me through the usual methods requesting my time."

The official gaped at him.

"You _are _Harry Potter, aren't you?"

Bulbous eyes raked his forehead suspiciously.

"Unfortunately," he deadpanned. "Now, if you'll excuse me…" he sidestepped the man and headed for the green table.

"You know when people told me The-Boy-Who-Lived had gone dark, I told them they were barmy…but I guess there must have been an element of truth to it after all," the official said snidely. Harry paused, feeling his temper snap.

"And that," he said in a conversation tone of voice. "Is why I hate the ministry." He spun round, his magic blazing. "You, and your minister, are a bunch of corrupt, pathetic little sheep with nothing better to do than backstab potential allies and spin ridiculous false accusations to try and make yourself look better. The height of pettiness, no? You have some audacity to even talk to me about elements of truth! You can tell the minister, and any of your other ass-hole colleagues that if they want my help or anything from me, they can start by changing that. You make me sick." He drew a sharp breath, struggling to reign in his temper. "I have a seriously bad headache at the moment, and a night of death eater raids and torture sessions burned into my mind right now," the conversational tone was back, derisive and mocking. "So please get the hell away from me, before I try some to see if they are motivational enough to get you to actually fight this war before it turns into more of a bloodbath than it already is. Merlin, its not my job to tell you how to run the country."

The official left very quickly after that.

As he sat down, Tom shot him a piercing look.

"Seriously bad headache?" he quoted questioningly. Harry shook his head, letting it drop on the table.

"About those Occlumency lessons…" he prompted. The Slytherin heir inclined his head.

"This evening, if you would like."

"Price?" he asked wearily. Tom studied him, a small smirk on his face.

"Hmm, you're actually watching where you're going this time. A remarkable improvement."

Harry glared. Tom's smirk broadened, before fading.

"I think actually getting us all a full night's sleep is price enough," he said. "Just don't give me any attitude in the lessons." Harry stared at him for a moment.

"Okay," he agreed.

"Good," Tom approved, turning to his breakfast. The sight of it made nausea stir up in his stomach.

"How can you even think about eating now?" he muttered. Tom didn't look up.

"Because I'm hungry. Now shut up and eat - or are you planning on being a wuss and throwng up?"

"No," he growled, but he didn't make any movement to actually touch anything on the various plates and platters before him. Wow, way to make a guy feel uncomfortable about actually having enough of a moral grounding to not have an appetite after observing a slaughter…

"Whatever," Tom dismissed, but Harry noticed his gaze flick up for a brief moment, before returning to the latest book he was reading - about memory.

The rest of breakfast passed uneventfully, with Lestrange, Zevi and Draco starting a discussion on what happened to identity if a person suffered from memory loss as any survivors of the death eater raid had been obliviated.

Then it hit him. Memory.

His hand closed on the remembrall in his pocket.

**AN: Well, it's an update, that's good news, right? I hope you guys liked it. Thank you for all the reviews, they give me a confidence boost and cheer me up whenever I read them =) **


	36. Chapter 35

Chapter 35:

It was much later in the day that he finally managed to steal some alone time.

The insistent throbbing and pounding of his head had faded somewhat, but he could still feel the pain stalking the recesses of his mind like a black panther; waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

Locking the door of the abandoned classroom behind him, he pulled the smoky red orb from out of his pocket. The remembrall felt cool and solid in his hand, the glass fitting snugly against the lines of his palm. Hesitating slightly, not sure if he was right or if he wanted the knowledge associated with being right, he tossed the ball to the floor.

It shattered instantly, hissing as the smoke poured out and towards him, hitting him dead on. Swirls of memory settled into his head and he dropped to the floor, clutching his head with one hand and supporting himself with the other. Tom. Wand. Obliviate. Plans. Sleeping. Sorry. He couldn't believe the dick had wiped his memory. The asshole.

Scarce minutes later, it was over, an anticlimax, and his vision cleared along with the smoke. All that remained was the shattered shards on the floor, cutting at his skin until they smeared as crimson as the smoke they once contained. He lifted his hand, cursing slightly, his wand moving to heal the wounds.

As he finished the incantation, a small slip of paper among the glint of broken glass caught his eye. Frowning slightly, he plucked it up, collapsing backwards into a sitting position. Wow, gaining memories made you tired. Did most people know that? His energy was utterly spent by the onslaught of recollection. Well, he liked to think it was the gaining of the memories that made him feel so very tired, not the icy darkness that tainted them. Tom. Hell. He unfolded the paper carefully, worried that the fragile parchment would crumble in his hands. It was written in block capitals, just like the original note.

_Harry, I feel I must apologise. Although the memories were rightfully yours and wrongfully stolen from you, I can only imagine the unease you must be feeling. Its easier to forget, isn't it? Nonetheless, now you know. The truth. I was never particularly fond of you when we first met, but seeing what you face every night has sort of corrected some of the misconceptions I may have made about your character. We are not the people we used to be anymore. We all change. _

_It is my solemn belief that a person should always be warned of what they are getting themselves into. For many of us, it is already too late - we have no choice, and any moral obligation I have implores me that I cannot allow him to take away yours. You should not have to face him blind, for it is difficult enough to deal with him with 20/20 vision, at least that was my understanding. __The point is Potter, society has taken away my choice in this war, my chances and future, but you still have yours. I will not see you throw it away on an uninformed decision and the careful charisma of one Tom Riddle. So, here you go. Enjoy your memory lane. Choose wisely. This note will automatically burn once you have finished reading it - I cannot take the chance that it will ever be discovered, for my life would then be forfeit. _

_Sincerely, Draco Malfoy. _

Harry's first thought was that it had to be a joke. Draco Malfoy sent him the remembrall, Draco sneering Malfoy who hated him since first year. The incredible bouncing ferret, Draco Malfoy. It didn't seem possible, but the message rang true, and it seeped his heart with ice. Was Malfoy a death eater then? He couldn't be. Lucius though…god. Draco was pretty much set for inner circle life, whether he agreed with it or not. He'd always seemed such a pompous, bigoted inbred little rich kid.

Then again, Harry himself had always been the epitome of Gryffindor's Golden boy. Draco was right, people did change. He watched the paper turn to cinders in his hand, before he vanished the smouldering ashes and the glass for good measure.

He half wanted to turn his wand to his own head and obliviate himself again. Tom, how could Tom do that to him! That was a stupid question. Tom did grow up into Voldemort, mass murdering dark lord extraordinaire. Tom, for Tom's standards of no morals whatsoever, had been shockingly merciful. He could have just forced his allegiance, his silence - Harry had his mark snaking on his arm, did he not? A thought struck him suddenly. Tom. Tom had been the one to tell him what the remembrall did, how it contained memories. Tom had warned him not to get his hopes up about him ever changing for good. Now he was confused. God damnit.

It was like the Slytherin did it deliberately just to screw with his head. The horrible part was that, try as he might, he still couldn't think of Tom as Voldemort. He wasn't. He couldn't be. His mind cringed, cowered and recoiled from the idea as if it were a hot stove, or a bomb just waiting to go off. Why had Tom taken the liberty of warning him? It didn't make any sense. The feeling of marionette strings being silently wrapped around him was growing, leaving him distinctly unsettled.

The worst part was, he couldn't think of a single way to stop it happening. Not one. He wasn't sure if he could, or even wanted to. Tom had been right in saying that they were both trying to convert the other, and it was binding them together tighter than chains. He couldn't afford to let it go, not when his very soul had latched onto the idea of changing Tom and preventing Voldemort from ever happening. And Tom had realised that, he'd known it from the very start.

This was so messed up.

He stowed his wand back into its holster, straightening and smoothing his robes down absently. His head was spinning, whirling with the events stacking up inside it like a line of dominoes. Crap.

He tried to look on the bright side. Tom wasn't going to be leaving either, he had just as much at stake with trying to convert Harry. He wasn't actually sure that was a bright side. There had to be something though, didn't there? This situation couldn't all be an elaborate ploy, devoid of all hope of redemption or salvation, could it? Something of it must have been real. It was too unnerving to think that every single moment he had spent with Tom, every line of banter had been nothing but a mirage to show him exactly what he wanted to see.

He was out of his depth, clearly. But he had to be making a difference, he just had to be - because he'd passed the point of no return a long time ago. He sighed. He couldn't feel his headache creeping back.

Maybe he could beg off Occlumency with Tom until tomorrow, when his head was a bit less off kilter. Yet, he needed to learn it, not learning just meant more death and less sleep. Occlumency. He was hit by a wave of sheer horror.

Occlumency meant Tom would read his mind. Now. Today.

Shit.

A/N - Well, here you go. An update. Not sure how good it is, but it's an update. Look on the bright side, right? Thanks for all the reviews =) adios! 


	37. Chapter 36

Chapter 36:

With only ten minutes until his Occlumency lesson, Harry knew that he had to come to a decision quickly. Would he go and have to deal with Tom, or would the fact he even had an Occlumency lesson somehow conveniently slip his mind? The latter sounded far more appealing, but the plan was a flimsy one at best - and not just because Tom wouldn't believe his temporary memory loss.

If he didn't go and find the young dark lord, from experience that just meant the Slytherin heir would track him down instead. Damn it. Okay, whatever. He could do this, even though Tom had specifically requested no attitude. No attitude…what did that even mean? Harry was almost certain that he and Tom had different definitions of the words.

It was just difficult, the other Slytherins assured him that he had an alarming abundance of attitude with Tom normally and Salazar knew he was even worse when he was pissed off. And he was, very, pissed off. He may not be able to reconcile Tom and Voldemort as the same person, but that didn't mean he couldn't reconcile Tom and memory-stealing bastard.

He took a deep breath, clenching his jaw and eyes shut in an effort to calm himself. He had to appear normal, Tom couldn't know who had sent the remembrall. Hell, he could deal with Tom's mood swings fine, but he wasn't willing to risk Draco Malfoy. Who would have thought he would have ever done anything to protect the ferret? His life was so messed up.

It was all Tom's fault. Right, Occlumency time. The room of requirement once again proved useful.

Was it possible to temporarily obliviate oneself?

***Fate's Favourite****

He entered without knocking, dropping his bag on the table. Tom looked up, his eyes shrewd.

"Right, let's get this over with," Harry said.

"You sound hurried. Do you have somewhere better to be?" Tom replied coolly. Harry paused, running a hand through his hair.

"No, no…just…tired," he finished lamely.

Tom's head tilted to one side. Harry willed himself to remain expressionless.

"I would imagine so. Sit, please."

After a moments hesitation, he dropped into the seat opposite. Despite popular belief, he didn't deliberately go out and do the something just because Tom had ordered him not to. Of course, he rarely took orders, but in the end it all came down to who cared more about the topic in hand. Sitting really wasn't an issue for him, so he would take it, it meant he was more likely to have leeway on other things that he did care about. The same worked for Tom, and what he wanted Tom to do. It was a twisted system, but it seemed to work well enough for them.

"First things first, what is the extent of your knowledge on Occlumency?" Tom asked.

"I know it's a mind art, used to protect ones mind from invasion or threat and that its counterpart is Legilimency," he glanced at Tom. "I also know you're good at both."

Tom's lip curled, just slightly.

"I'm more than good, Harry," he drawled.

"Amazingly modest too," he flashed a grin, hoping it didn't seem as forced as it felt. There was too much spinning in his head. He should have obliviated the lesson from his awareness until a conveniently too late time.

Pun bloody intended.

The merest hint of a frown settled on the older Slytherin's features.

"What?" he demanded, his heart beating against his ribcage like the frantic wings of a captured snitch.

"You seem distracted," Tom noted.

"Are you going to teach me or not?" he replied flatly.

"Is it the raid? Is that what's bothering you?" Tom questioned insistently.

"It's nothing, are we doing the whole Occlumency lesson thing now? Cause, you know, that's what I came for."

"Do you have another headache maybe?"

Something in him frayed past returning point.

"Will you back the bloody hell off!" he snapped. "Despite what you seem to mistakenly believe, not everything in my life is your business to know!"

Tom's eyebrows arched in surprise, his gaze darkening.

"Excuse me?" he demanded dangerously. Harry stood angrily, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"Seriously Tom, what the hell do you want from me?"

"Want from you?" Tom repeated. "Haven't we already had this conversation?"

"You don't just want to convert me," he said stubbornly. Tom blinked, a lazy smirk on his face.

"Whatever gives you that impression?" Despite the smirk on his lips, Harry knew that Tom was far from pleased or even amused. His gaze was as cold and hard as diamonds. For once, he found he really didn't care.

He rolled up the shirt sleeve silently, revealing his left forearm. He was perfectly aware the snake probably had him tied with a collar around his neck.

"Oh, yes, I'd nearly forgotten about that." Harry's jaw tightened. That smug asshole. He had in no way forgotten about the mark and they both knew it.

"I'm sure," he sneered. Tom's fingers flexed, as if he were itching to reach for his wand. Harry smirked, some part of his mind sighing that he was just being deliberately antagonising now.

"You know what," Tom said suddenly, coldly. "Let's just leave this until you've finished your little temper tantrum."

"No, no," he dismissed airily. "Wouldn't want to waste your time. I'm raring to go, really. Teach me oh wise one, you know everything, don't you?"

Tom's hands clenched into a definite fists this time.

"What on earth is the matter with you today?" he demanded, taking a step closer, appraising him with an undecipherable emotion. It could have been something like concern, but he Harry knew it wasn't.

"Nothing," he smiled. "Why would there be anything wrong with me? I enjoy spending every night watching people getting tortured and killed, that's entertaining, right? Then again, maybe it's the fact I'll be dead by the time I'm seventeen because a mass murdering psychopath is out for my blood. Or hell, maybe, just maybe, it's people constantly trying to manipulate me, use me and screw me over. I don't know. I _forget._"

Tom went very still.

"You worked it out then," he remarked softly. "Harry-"

"What do you want with me?" Harry interrupted, his voice icy, tired, resolute. "Or are you just going to obliviate me again? Because, just so you know, it would probably be better if you just killed me, because otherwise this cycle is going to keep repeating back to here over and over again."

"I'm not going to kill you," Tom replied.

"Then your IQ must be dropping, because I am never going to willingly go along with whatever it is that you're planning. Apparently I wouldn't like it - not that you really care about that, do you?"

The other was watching him intently, in silence, his expression unreadable. "Well?" he demanded.

"Harry," he replied carefully. "You do know I was the one who told you about the less known function of remembralls. You wouldn't even have that memory back if it wasn't for me."

"Yeah, cause I'm too thick to work out anything on my own, aren't I?"

Tom's eyes flashed.

"That's not what I said."

"No," he breathed. "That's just what you imply."

He shook his head, dismissively. "Whatever, Riddle, I'm out of here."

A hand closed vicelike on his upper arm, and he spun, wand in hand, pressing it against the hollow of Tom's throat. He was surprised to see that the young dark lord hadn't drawn his own yew and phoenix feather.

"Let go of me," he said quietly, through gritted teeth.

"Are you going to curse me?" Tom's lips twisted as his eyes flicked to the wand directed his way.

"Do I need to?" he enquired. "Or are you going to back off before I start slicing your appendages off; starting with, but not limited to, your fingers?"

Tom's grip was burning against his skin, and he could feel the mark activating at the touch. He could sense the other evaluating exactly how serious he was, before the fingers dropped. He took a step back immediately, heading for the door.

"I'm not looking to force your allegiance," the words were soft, but stopped him in his tracks. He turned again, slowly. "Not if there is any other possible route, barring killing you."

"What are you looking for then?" he asked, before swallowing dryly, realisation hitting him like a high speed truck. "You're looking for me to join you willingly."

"Yes," Tom said quietly.

"You know, obliviating someone isn't the best way of doing that," he replied tightly.

"It's a learning curve," Tom drawled. "Just in case you haven't noticed, I don't normally work this way."

"I would have been a bit worried if you time stalked someone before," he deadpanned. Tom's lips quirked slightly into what could have been the beginnings of a grin.

"Indeed," he said.

"I don't forgive you," Harry said. "So stop smirking." Tom's face grew solemn, but his eyes glittered.

"I don't expect you to," he replied. "Are we still on for Occlumency?"

Harry hesitated. He did really need to learn the mind art, and Tom would be an extremely proficient choice of teacher, but…

"Are you going to try anything?"

"No. Even I'm not that underhanded." Harry raised his eyebrows. "Okay, I am that underhanded, but I won't. You have my word."

"If I tell you to get the hell out of my head and stop poking around, will you?"

Tom was silent for a moment. Harry almost turned and walked out, but he knew…or he thought he knew…Tom well enough to see that he was merely logically analysing the ramifications of agreement and disagreement.

"Okay," Tom conceded. Harry almost grinned, it felt so great to have Tom somewhat yielding to him for once.

"Okay," he agreed. Tom's head tilted, his walk slow and deliberately unthreatening. Harry felt the first stirrings of amusement; Tom was acting like he was trying to soothe a particularly tempestuous and hostile snake. He was almost wary for some reason.

"I have one question though…" Tom glanced at him.

"Shoot," he said. Tom arched a brow. "It means go ahead," he explained. Tom nodded.

"Why do you think I think you're thick?"

Okay. That wasn't what he was expecting.

_A/N: Wow, it's a spectacularly long chapter for my standards. I hope you guys enjoyed it. There's a lack of their normal banter, but I figured Harry wasn't really in the mood to play, I hope it's okay. Thank you for all the reviews. Adios! - The Fictionist. _


	38. Chapter 37

Chapter 37:

Okay. That _wasn't _what he was expecting at all. Harry felt his anger subside for a brief moment with his amazement at the question - how on earth did he answer that? It was so obvious that it didn't need explaining. Well, he'd thought it was.

Tom was staring at him expectantly, impassively, waiting for him to speak.

"Er, you imply it often enough," Harry said. The Slytherin heir frowned slightly. "Not to mention, you're a stone cold genius. You think everyone around you is thick by default. You once told Cassius Parkinson that he had the brains of a dissected goldfish!" He drew in an inaudible breath. This wasn't a good path to be walking down with Tom. "Can we do the Occlumency lesson now?"

"I don't think you're thick," Tom replied. Harry almost growled in annoyance. For a psychopath with little empathy or conscience, Tom had an alarming habit of drawing him into these types of uncomfortable conversations.

Actually, it was probably because he didn't feel like normal people that Tom did drag him into such conversations, the awkwardness just seemed to pass over him in the face of his never-ending thirst for knowledge.

"Okay. Sorted. Occlumency?" Harry kept his voice even and composed. This talking about feelings stuff made him seriously ill at ease, especially with Tom. The other was too good at seeing right through whatever he said to what the actual issue was - probably a side effect of learning how to manipulate the emotions of everyone around him. Blasted Dark Lord. Tom worked by reacting in the most beneficial manner to those around him, he tended to know what people wanted and would use that accordingly to get what _he_ wanted out of them.

"You have a shockingly low self esteem," Tom mused. Harry scowled.

"No I don't," he snapped. "Stop bloody trying to psychoanalyse me."

"You know 'psychoanalyse' suggests that I'm right?"

Harry glared. He was still angry with Tom, and his insistence wasn't helping that. Though, he did notice with some smugness that the young Dark Lord was careful to stay out of his reach.

"You do know that psychiatry demands a level of mental stability?" he returned. "One which you decidedly lack."

Tom was silent, the air around him taut with friction.

"Occlumency?" he said finally, though his tone suggested that the conversation wasn't over, only stalled for a later date.

"Occlumency," Harry agreed.

It was a half hour later and Tom was rather noticeably on edge. Harry was pretty sure that he knew why, but he certainly wasn't going to address the issue. Learning Occlumency meant that Tom had access to some of his memories, which meant he had gained some hints as to the Dursley treatment. Of course, Tom been aware that his childhood wasn't exactly ideal, but he'd never really pushed for graphic specifics.

He still didn't have them, but the few flashes Harry knew he had come across weren't pleasant. Or maybe it was the fact that his attempts at shielding so far were proving pathetic that was what was souring Tom's mood; Harry hoped so, it was certainly souring his. Passing out was getting repetitive.

"Can't you offer anything a little more specific than clear your mind?" he demanded irritably. Tom's eyes flashed.

"No attitude," he reminded coolly. Harry forcibly quelled his tongue, the apology he gave tasting bitter and foreign on his tongue. Damn it, but he needed these lessons more than Tom needed to teach them. They both knew it.

"I can't, not yet," Tom continued, his voice a fraction less frosty. "I need to see what your automatic reaction is going to be, when you have it, because that will determine what method I'm going to be teaching you."

"If it's automatic," Harry said. "Shouldn't I already have had it?" He leaned back against the foot of the sofa, his head throbbing as viciously as it had that morning. It made him feel nauseous.

"No, your mind has not yet reached the point where it will do anything to keep an intruder out," Tom said.

"My breaking point," Harry murmured, a wry grin twisted the corners of his mouth. Merlin, that was just so typical.

"Your breaking point," Tom agreed softly.

"Now I know why you agreed to teaching me with so few catches," he said, softening the grin to show that he was only teasing. Tom put a hand over his heart, the picture of innocence.

"Can you hear that, Harry? It's the sound of my heart breaking! I may never recover from the harshness of your judgement."

"How will you ever survive?" he replied dryly. Tom smirked, shaking his head in mock sadness.

"Alas, I'm uncertain. It's tragic. I suppose I'll settle with finding your breaking point."

Harry laughed.

"And I thought you liked me," he pulled a pout. Tom rolled his eyes, before levelling the yew wand in his direction again.

"On the count of three - okay?"

Harry nodded, bracing himself. In a moment, he felt the invasion. His mind jerked at it, pushing weakly at the sense of something unwelcome and not right.

_The graveyard, lit by the poisonous green flare of the killing curse…playing against Cedric in that quidditch in third year…his first time on a broom…laughing in the common room with the Slytherins…a flash of the reptile house when he was eleven…standing with his hands against the window pane, watching the Dursley's stuffing themselves on their Christmas dinner, a sharp wind cutting at his skin…_

Harry opened his eyes, slumped on the floor again, cradling his head in his hands. Merlin, his head. If it was bad before, the most recent mental attack left it screaming. It was as bad as it was before, to the point where he was getting the urge to smash all the lights into broken pieces of darkness. He rubbed his eyes.

"Why did you stop?" he asked, not looking up. He could hear Tom's footsteps as the other approached him from the couch opposite, where he had been sitting. Every time shoe hit floor felt like a small needle had been stabbed into his mind.

He felt, more than heard, Tom crouch in front of him, dark eyes studying him in an unnervingly intense manner. Of course, he should have been used to it, Tom's gaze was normally intense if you managed to draw its focus, but still. It wasn't something you got used to, only something that you got better at ignoring.

"Because you look like you're about to collapse for real and not wake up again instantly when I leave your thoughts," Tom said simply. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he winced, risking a glance up. Shit, that was too bright, he immediately looked down again. "Let's go again."

Tom frowned. Instantly, the room grew dark, all but one light eclipsed. Harry almost breathed an audible sigh of relief. A hand caught his jaw firmly, tilting his face up to study it.

"You have a headache."

"It's fine," he lied. "Let's go again - I won't learn anything just sitting here." He _needed _to learn, all that awaiting him without occlumency was the whirlpool of torture that was being sucked into Voldemort's brain in many a sleeping moment.

"No," Tom refused. "Enough for today. Occlumency is a long slow progress, not a one night quick fix. Forcing it is liable to do more damage than good."

"But-"

"I said enough," Tom's voice was soft, but completely unyielding at the same time. Harry debated silently on whether to push the issue or not, but decided against it as pushing too much could result in a refusal to teach at all. "How long has your head been paining you?"

"A while…" Harry shrugged, taking no notice of the displeased look on the Slytherin heir's face.

"And you didn't think to maybe mention it?" Tom demanded, before shaking his head. "Dear god, you're going to be death of me one day. Up."

His jaw was released, only for his arm to be seized and his body yanked up off the floor.

"Of course I am," he muttered, shooting Tom a grin. "Nobody else would have the guts to consider murdering you."

Tom arched an eyebrow.

"Watch it," he warned lightly. "I could take that as a threat, and I doubt you'd like the consequences of that."

"Probably not," Harry agreed mildly, not really troubled. His head was pounding too much for him to consider anything but his immediate response to their conversation. Tom's eyes flicked to him.

"Headache not subsiding?" he asked. Harry shrugged once more.

"Right. Let's go," Tom said, sounding annoyed.

"Where?" he asked warily.

"Hospital Wing, genius."

As his horror whacked into him at full force, Harry could only think of one thing to say…

"See, I told you that you make remarks that imply I'm thick."

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, hope it's satisfactory (or preferably more, but I won't get my hopes up too high...) and bid you adios for now. I should catch some zeds.


	39. Chapter 38

A/N: Sorry the update took so long. The system screwed up and wouldn't let me add a chapter to any of my HP fics. You can thank Effiron on forum for giving me a way around it. 

Chapter 38:

"Well, I am starting to wonder…" Tom trailed off, glancing at him with a wicked grin. Harry scowled.

"As always, your comebacks get wittier by the day," he replied sarcastically, abruptly twisting out of Tom's grip, trying to ignore the excruciating throbbing of his head. Tom arched a brow at the action.

"Don't tell me you're sulking," he said. "That's something I'd expect from Lestrange, not you. Come on." He made an impatient hand gesture.

"I'm not going to the Hospital Wing," Harry said flatly. Tom studied him for a moment.

"Yes, you are," he replied calmly. "You look like death warmed over."

"Considering your love of corpses, I'll take that as a compliment," he retorted, batting his eyelashes mockingly, before stopping when it made the world tilt in a decidedly unnatural manner.

"I'm not a necrophiliac," Tom snapped, looking irritated for a moment.

"I always knew there was a reason that you went Dark Lord on everyone…"

Tom levelled him with a rather ferocious glare. Harry smirked, the expression fading when Tom took a step towards him. He took a step back.

"I'm not going to the hospital wing," he repeated. "No way. Absolutely not. I don't need it and you can't make me."

Tom flicked his wand at the ceiling and Harry hissed despite himself when the lights suddenly switched on. Axes attacked his head with the intention to cripple him. His hands shot over his eyes as he swore under his breath. He was going to be sick.

"Would you like to retract that statement?" Tom murmured silkily.

"No," Harry growled, aiming his wand blindly at the lights.

In an instant, Tom had closed the gap between them, catching his wand hand to stop the movement. The young Dark Lord had a bitterly unfair advantage considering he wasn't in agonising pain and able to open his eyes without feeling like he wasn't going to throw up. That didn't stop him from sending a punch, which the other dodged narrowly.

"Are you sure?" Tom continued. "Because you look like you need it."

"Screw you," Harry whispered harshly. "I'm fine.

The lights brightened to their full capacity, so bright that he could feel them burning through his fingers to ram smoking pokers into his temples. It was times like these that reminded him just how truly sadistic Tom could be. The world swayed ominously and he staggered, catching hold of the sofa arm to steady himself as his knees buckled beneath him.

If he looked up from his involuntary near kneeling position, Harry was pretty sure he would see a rather smug expression on the Slytherin heir's features. He heard the rustling of robes, and felt long fingers threading though his hair, tilting his head up slightly.

"Salazar, you really are extraordinarily stubborn."

The lights switched off, plunging them into darkness and he was pulled onto his feet once more. Harry's eyes snapped open. There was no smile on Tom's lips anymore - he was completely serious now. "Let's go."

"No," he spat. He wasn't going to the Hospital wing. It was a headache. Just a headache.

"Oh, you must have mistaken that as a request," Tom said in that soft, dangerous tone of voice, favouring him with the particularly shark like smile that Harry hadn't seen in a while. "Let me correct you on that. We're going to the Hospital Wing. Now. You can either walk of your own accord or I will drag you. You may find the latter exceedingly more uncomfortable."

"That forceful tone makes me go weak at the knees, really," Harry drawled in a sarcastically gushing manner, before continuing persistently. "There is no reason for me to go the Hospital Wing. I'm not injured. You can go on your own if you're so desperate to visit it."

There was a moment of silence, then a sickening crack as pain exploded in his ankle. Harry bit back a startled yelp.

"You do now," Tom smirked.

"That totally doesn't count," he muttered darkly. "Asshole."

Madame Pomfrey was furious when they arrived at the hospital wing.

"Merlin child, what have you done now?" she huffed worriedly, bustling over immediately.

"_I _haven't done anything," he mumbled defensively, his hand rising to shield himself from the light. Tom flicked his wand to turn the lights off. The nurse frowned, glancing at the Slytherin heir before surveying him again.

"He was rather reluctant to visit you, Madame," Tom said, in an annoyingly charming manner. Madame Pomfrey's eyes widened at the insinuation, before she looked horrified.

"You -" she gasped, seemingly incoherent as she examined the vicious purple swelling on his ankle. "Do you have no conscience?" she demanded.

"No," Tom said simply, brutally. "Unless you count Potter."

Harry frowned, opening his mouth to speak. Madame Pomfrey looked momentarily distracted as she ushered him to a hospital bed.

"Potter? How - no, I don't," she floundered. "Where on earth did you get that conclusion?"

"Harry. Annoying overly moral voice that nags frequently in guidance to ethical situations," Tom shrugged. "It's the same difference."

Madame Pomfrey appeared to be struggling not to gape, before she shook her head seemingly to clear it as she turned back to him.

"What seems to be the problem, Harry?" she asked kindly. She shot a look at the darkened lights.

"It's nothing really," he began, glaring at Tom when he scoffed 'liar.' "Just a headache, and the ankle, obviously." Madame Pomfrey pursed her lips, casting a medical scan.

"Your ankle is dislocated, kicked out of place. It will hurt a little, but I can fix it in just a jiffy. One moment." The nurse bustled into the adjoining room and he could hear the clanking of potions bottles. He narrowed his eyes at Tom.

"You _dislocated _my ankle," he accused. The Slytherin arched his brows in return.

"I know, I was there. To be fair, I consider you entirely responsible."

"What, like you considered me responsible for putting us both in a coma for two weeks because _you _drugged me?"

"Exactly," Tom smirked, before his expression became impassive and stony. Madame Pomfrey entered again, vials in her hands. She passed one to him and he eyed it dubiously.

"Are you sure this is good for me?" he asked sceptically. She snorted, looking amused.

"Just drink it dear."

"It looks like cat vomit," he remarked. Pomfrey's lip twitched, be it in the beginnings of a smile or exasperation he couldn't tell. He chugged it down, gagging against the foul taste. There was a moment of nothingness. "I thought you said it would hu-" he broke into cursing. Tom and the nurse both glowered at him. It felt like a bullet had been shot through his ankle.

When he looked down, his ankle was no longer awfully distorted out of place, the swelling had subsided and there was no marks of bruising. Pomfrey surveyed him clinically.

"When did this headache begin?" she asked. She didn't ask how bad it was. He supposed the migraine like light sensitivity gave it away slightly. His stomach churned uneasily.

"Err," he rubbed his head, glancing at Tom who was appraising him intently. "Yesterday night…"

"And you only just -" she paused. "Yesterday night?" she repeated, her face growing ashen. "Do you mean-"

"The, um, Death Eater raid. Yeah…but it's been sort of on and off," he explained quickly. "It just peaked about half an hour ago."

"He had one in the morning as well," Tom added unhelpfully, pitilessly. Harry threw the hospital pillow at him. Madame Pomfrey immediately starting casting a string of spells, only some of which Harry recognised from his training and survival research.

Five minutes later, she stopped, somehow even whiter than she had been a few minutes prior.

"I can't find any viable cause for the headache," she murmured, looking worried. It seemed like she wanted to add something, but was hesitant.

"What?" he asked. "Is that really bad?"

"No, well a little, but…Mr Potter, did you know that your body is showing traces of the Cruciatus Curse?"

_IMPORTANTISH A/N: Well, I hope you guys liked it. Thanks for the reviews. I'm thinking of putting this idea up for adoption, if anyone is interested in using it? I will probably keep writing my version of it, but…*shrug.* I'd love to read a similar fic, but obviously I can't because I'm the only one writing the idea. And yeah. It would destroy any novelty I have and knowing my luck all my fans (I think I have a few, hopefully) would transfer their interest onto the other story because they wrote it better than me. But. It's not like I get reviews en masse anyway, though i'm not too bad off I think and thank you, so I thought what the hell. Anyone interested? Whoa, that was a long AN. Sorry. Okay, adios - The Fictionist_

_OH, and i'm in the middle, well beginning of a rewrite. Done the first chapter. Going to try and replace the current one so if the story looks slightly weird, sorry! ALSO DONE THE SECOND CHAPTER NOW, take a look and tell me what you think? It's like a mini update of its own ;)_


	40. Chapter 39

**Parseltongue**

Chapter 39:

Harry froze, feeling Tom's gaze snap to an alarmingly intense focus upon his person. Madame Pomfrey cast him a suspicious look.

"Wards, Madame," Tom reminded, not sparing her a glance. Madame Pomfrey's suspicion died down a little - Tom was correct, he couldn't have cast an unforgivable within the Schools without the wards picking it up. "Harry?"

"Hmm?" he asked innocently.

"Why exactly is your body showing traces of the cruciatus curse?" The Slytherin Heir sounded distinctly put out. Harry scoffed.

"Tom, when have you ever cared? You've expressed the desire to crucio me on numerous occasions." Pomfrey blanched.

"Yes," Tom replied. "But I'm allowed." Harry felt a laugh startle out of his mouth, incredulous and disbelieving.

"So it's okay if I get tortured so long as you're the only one causing it?"

"Yes," Tom said. "As it is, I haven't - so what _happened?" _

"If I have traces of cruciatus in my system what the hell do you think happened? I thought you were supposed to be a genius."

"I gathered that bit," Tom snapped. "I meant who and when."

Harry was about to reply flippantly, but the impatient emotion in Tom's tone made him pause. His head tilted to one side.

"My, that sounds almost like a speck of concern," he said.

"Of course it's concern," Tom's jaw was clenched. "Somebody cast a crucio on you and _I _didn't know about it!"

"Serious safety hazard," he commented lightly after moment. Tom frowned.

"Mr Potter, if you could just answer the question…" Madame Pomfrey requested. Harry sighed, levelling a look between them. He opened his mouth to speak.

"If you say it's nothing, or fine, I swear you will live to regret it," Tom warned dangerously.

"What, because you'll crucio me?" he mocked.

"No," Tom smiled. "But I will happen to mention to Zevi that I fear you may suffer from insomnia, post traumatic stress or any manner of infliction that would make someone want to coddle you…conveniently in the hearing of Mother Weasel."

Harry blinked, horror rising in his gut. He loved Mrs Weasley, dearly, but she would smother him so badly that he wouldn't get a second of peace! And then Sirius would find out, and everyone would freak out…and it would be a total nightmare.

"You wouldn't…" he narrowed his eyes. Tom merely raised his eyebrows in challenge. Harry folded his arms, silent for a moment. Madame Pomfrey was regarding the Slytherin Heir with something that was almost admiration. "I can feel it when he tortures people," he mumbled at last, quickly.

"Excuse me?" Madame Pomfrey said. "I didn't quite catch that dear." It was a conspiracy. He could feel his irritation rising.

"I said I can feel it when he tortures people," he repeated, his voice came out louder than he meant it to be.

"He…" Madame Pomfrey's eyes widened, filling with pity and dismay. He could tell she had worked out who 'he' was.

"Voldemort," Tom confirmed quietly, disregarding the nurses flinch. Harry nodded. "Every curse?" the young Dark Lord demanded. "Every vision?"

"Yeah."

"Why on earth didn't you say something!" Madame Pomfey exclaimed, sounding scandalised.

"Would it make a difference?" he shrugged, moving to stand up off the bed. Tom was silent, appraising him with an unreadable expression on his face. "Thanks for the potion," he said, smiling slightly. He fled before she could protest.

Tom remained unspeaking as they headed back to the common room, though Harry could feel his gaze like a physical weight. They let themselves in - the common room was half empty by now. He dropped onto one of the sofas, ignoring the curious eyes around the room that were surreptitiously tracking his movement. He heard Tom settle beside him, eyes still studying his features.

"It's rude to stare," he said irritably.

"How long?" Tom questioned.

"How long what?" he asked, though he had feeling he knew what Tom meant.

"How long does the torture last?"

"Taking lessons are we?" he replied. He pulled a roll of parchment out of his bag, and a quill, stopping when one of Tom's hands came over his to still his movement.

"**Harry," **he hissed. Harry's eyes flicked up.

"It's muted, not as bad as the actual thing," he replied finally. "He's not actually casting it at me."

"That doesn't answer the question," Tom deadpanned. He repressed the urge to sigh again.

"No more than an hour. Most of his prisoners break before thirty minutes are through."Tom was silent once more.

"Come on," he said suddenly, standing up and snatching Harry's bag and work. Harry growled under his breath in annoyance, making a lunge for his belongings. Tom smirked, sidestepping and heading for the dorms.

"For god's sake," he muttered, getting up to follow the Slytherin heir. Once in the dorms, Tom tossed his bag to the floor and, ignoring the stares, dragged him to the bathroom for some privacy. Harry folded his arms impatiently. "What now?" he demanded.

"Give me your arm," Tom instructed, holding out a hand. Harry paused.

"Why?" he questioned. Tom seemed to be resisting rolling his eyes, making an impetuous gesture for him to follow the order.

"I'm going to see if I can do anything about your nightly torture sessions." Harry blinked. That wasn't what he was expecting. When he didn't move, Tom pulled the appendage over himself, rolling up his sleeve and placing a hand over the mark. The crescent moon shapes morphed into the snake, and Harry's skin tingled. With the other hand, Tom made a move towards his head.

"Whoa," Harry took an uneasy step back. "What exactly are you going to do?"

Tom sighed in a long-suffering manner.

"I'm going to take control of your magic to hopefully put a temporary mental block up between you and Voldemort."

"You can take control of my magic?" Harry looked down at the mark in horror. Tom's lips curved into a slight smirk.

"Only if you let me," he said. "Will you?"

Harry hesitated. Tom looked at him patiently.

"If you take an oath that you're only doing what you said you'd do," he replied finally, after weighing the pros and cons in his head.

"Of course," Tom drawled. "I would expect no less from you. Your trust in me is truly inspiring."

"Yes, because it's not like you're not a scheming, manipulative bastard," he retorted. Tom grinned, before growing serious once more.

"I Tom Marvolo Riddle hereby swear on my life that in this instance, I will only use the magic of Harry James Potter to try and build a temporary mind block in his head, until he can do it for himself." There was a glow of magic, before it sunk back under the other's skin. "Satisfied?"

Harry nodded, slowly, letting Tom's hand find his head. There was a moment of silence, and, and, nothing happened. Tom glared at him, with a small tinge of amusement.

"What?" he asked.

"Stop blocking me and relax. I'm not going to hurt you - can you do that? Take a deep breath."

"So you need consent to take over the magic?" He confirmed again, feeling relieved. Tom met his gaze for a moment.

"I need consent to take over _your _magic," he said. Harry's head tilted. They fell silent again.

"But not the others? Why?" he questioned. His curiosity was bubbling now.

"Potter," Tom said tightly. "I'm trying to concentrate here. Look it up later."

"Can't you just tell me?"

"No," Tom returned. "Don't be lazy. Researching will do you good."

"Can you at least give me a hint as to what book I need?"

"Auras. Power levels. Now shut up."

Harry bit his lip, quietening once more. He took a deep breath, then felt his magic shift. His muscles locked with tension, and Tom's grip tightened as he swore under his breath.

"Easy," the Slytherin heir murmured soothingly. "You're fighting me again."

"I cant help it," he snapped.

"Then this is going to be painful for you," Tom replied.

He flinched as he felt a Tom's magic ram at his, wrapping around it and tugging. It felt weird and hell, it was agony. He gritted his teeth. Tom was talking quietly to him, but the words were buzzing over his head, then the pain was gone and he was drifting…he could sense the magic, but he couldn't do anything.

Shuddering at the sensation of vulnerability and helplessness that shot through his body at the lack of magic, he concentrated on breathing deeply. He felt a pang of intense terror. lHis head was throbbing, then he felt something click. A second later, his magic rushed back and he abruptly jerked away from Tom, trying not to be sick. A deep ache, one he hadn't even realised was there, seemed to be lifted. He looked up after a moment to see Tom leaning against the sink, ashen faced with his eyes closed.

"Tom - you alright?" he asked worriedly, straightening. Tom's eyes didn't open.

"Fine, don't worry hero."

Harry studied him carefully, before realisation hit. Tom was tired, drained from what had to have been a heavy use of magic. He felt a surge of guilt and gratitude.

"Thanks," he said. Tom's eyes opened, and his mouth twisted into something like a smile.

"Don't be such a girl, Harry."

Harry grinned. After a few seconds, Tom straightened businesslike, his masks locking into position. All trace of weariness was gone, though Harry sensed it was still there. "If you wake me up I'm going kill you," Tom muttered, leaving the bathroom. Harry smiled to himself.

Maybe Tom wasn't so bad as he liked to make out.

He still wiped his memory though. And was a manipulative git.

Damn. He was confused.

A/N: Well, I hope you liked it. Last update in a while, cause I'm going away on holiday and have exams when I get back. Thanks for the reviews, they inspire me. Chapter 1 and 2 of the rewrite are up, if you want to go back and read them, like another mini update of their own. They've changed quite a lot. Anyhow, enjoy? - The Fictionist


	41. Chapter 40

Chapter 40:

When Harry woke up that morning, something felt different.

It took him a few moments to realise what it was, before he started to smile. He had slept. He didn't ache all over and he had actually slept through the night. Albeit, not all of it had been restful, when he didn't have visions he had nightmares, but…he was pretty sure he had got in a least a couple of hours of deep, restful sleep.

He actually felt vaguely energised and alive again. It was amazing.

He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, then sat up and cast a tempus charm. It was nine of clock. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd been asleep after six! Occlumency lessons suddenly seemed far more tolerable, despite their somewhat tempestuous start. And oh god…it was nine O clock. He'd overslept! Wow, that was an extremely nice problem to have…but a problem, nonetheless.

Cursing as he stubbed his toe, he tripped out of bed and hurriedly got dressed and ready. A few minutes later, he grabbed his bag to sprint to his first class - Defence against the Dark Arts. He hated Monday mornings, although this one didn't feel quite so bleak as some of the ones he'd had previously. He skidded into the room to find Carrow talking already, and suppressed a groan.

"Mr Potter," she sneered. "You're late."

"Sorry," he said, not really all that apologetic. "I overslept."

"Stop smiling," the professor ordered. "And sit down. 20 points from Gryffindor."

There was a cry of outrage from his fellow lions, dark mutterings of 'unfair' and 'only a couple of minutes.' He dropped into the empty seat next to Tom. He realised with some annoyance that Ron and Hermione had retreated to the far corner of the Gryffindor side of the room in his absence, instead of their spot near the middle - which allowed him to sit with both the Slytherins and the Gryffindors.

Carrow continued her lecture with a disapproving sniff and narrowed eyes.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" he hissed, before pausing, regarding at the other properly. "You look like hell."

"Thanks Potter, that's just what a guy wants to hear," Tom murmured, favouring him with a look. He grimaced.

"You okay?" he asked.

"That's almost like concern there, golden boy," the other mocked. Harry glared.

"I'm _fine._" Tom said after a moment. "Peachy, albeit unable to hear the lecture."

"Yes, because it's not like you don't even need to attend class to get straight 'O's or anything," he said, rolling his eyes at the excuse, though he reluctantly took the hint to 'shut up.'

The room was filled with the scratching sound of note taking, and the low voice of Carrow as she told them about the many uses of incendiary curses. The hour passed.

FATE'S FAVOURITE

Tom walked out very quickly when the lesson ended, leaving the rest of them to follow.

Ron and Hermione began to make their way over to him. He snagged Zevi's arm.

"What's up with Tom?" he questioned. "Do you know?" Zevi shrugged.

"Not a clue, aren't we supposed to be asking you this question? You're his favourite."

Harry frowned slightly.

"No I'm not," he said. Alphard laughed, apparently having eavesdropped on their conversation.

"No, really you are. Blatant favouritism. You get away with murder compared to us mere followers." Despite having just referred to himself as mere follower, Alphard seemed cheery enough about the fact. Zevi caught his expression.

"Don't look so stunned, Harry," he chided.

"I - you're his friends," he replied. He sounded a tad feeble, even to his own ears. Tom didn't really care much for friendship outside of how its pretence could benefit him. Zevi seemed to think so too, though he smiled gently.

"Either way, if you don't know, its liable we don't know…unless you're just being oblivious, and normally when you are it's because you've done something to piss him off….so I don't know if you actually are that oblivious or simply playing dumb."

Harry remained expressionless, even as they both tilted their heads to study him. Alphard broke the silence.

"So go talk to him, and report back - okay hero?"

Harry scowled.

"Really Alphard," Abraxas drawled, speaking up for the first time. It seemed they had ALL been eavesdropping, Harry thought with a sigh. He should learn to expect it. "You know it's only Tom whose allowed to call Harry his little nicknames - look, you've made him pull a bitch face now."

Harry sneered wordlessly at the carelessly smirking Malfoy, even as Ron and Hermione caught up with him outside the door.

"We've got Transfiguration," Hermione offered, either as a reminder or just to start a conversation with him. He nodded.

"See you later," he said, walking off in the opposite directions of the Slytherins, who had Herbology with the Ravenclaws.

"Remember to go find Tom!" Alphard yelled at his back.

He ignored the Black heir.

FATE'S FAVOURITE

Despite showing no previous intention, he did go and seek out Tom later in the day. It wasn't because he was worried, because he wasn't. The Slytherin heir could look out for himself. Harry was just…curious. Yeah. He was just curious, as always.

Tom had been avoiding him all day. Not that he actually noticed Tom's presence really, it was just a passing thought. Still.

He found the other in the Astronomy Tower, leaning on the window to watch the Thestrals circling the lake.

"Harry," the young Dark Lord greeted, without turning around. He made his way over, silent for a few moments as he too watched the Thestrals, trying to think how to start.

"What's up with you today?" As soon as he said it, he winced a little at the bluntness of the question. Tom's lips curled into the barest of smirks.

"Sometimes I wonder how you survived the intricacies of Slytherin," he remarked.

"With my normal skill and awesomeness," he replied automatically. Tom spun to face away from the window, regarding him expectantly.

"What?" he asked.

"How's the head?"

"Fine," he said honestly. "Thanks." Tom merely blinked at him in response. "So…?" he probed. "What's wrong? You're scaring your minions"

"I always scare my minions," Tom smirked, cruelly. Harry tightened his jaw.

"Did, last night…" he trailed off. "It didn't-"

"By all means, spit it out," Tom drawled. Irritated now, he just snapped the words out

."Did last night injure you, or something?" he asked. "Like, drain you, is that it?"

The amusement dropped from Tom's features.

"I already told you; I'm fine. Was there something else?" He was entering a danger zone, the warning on the other was screaming out in his posture told him that much. For his own good, he really should drop the subject.

"You are not fine," he countered stubbornly. "You've been off all day…but if its not that, what is it?"

Tom was eyeing him in a speculating manner, then it seemed his barriers dropped as he sighed.

"I'm…confused," the other said. Harry's brow furrowed.

"Over what?" he asked. Tom took a step forward, and Harry froze as a slender hand came up to caress his face.

"These feelings. I don't understand," Tom looked very intent now, his face uncomfortably close. Harry felt a stirring of absolute panic in his stomach.

"Hah, funny Tom," he said nervously. Tom took a step with him as he backed away, trying to regain some semblance of personal space.

"It's not funny!" the other snapped, angry now. "What the hell is this? What are you doing to me? I've never - just the thought of _him _in your head instead of me."

There was a rather predatory glint in the others eye now. Harry swallowed at the lump in his throat.  
Zevi had said that Tom was straight…he was, right? Crap. Crap.

His back hit the window sill. Tom leaned in closer, their lips almost touching.

"Say you love me too Harry…"

"Okay, can you stop it now?" he asked, his voice perhaps a fraction too high.

"But you haven't given me an answer," Tom murmured.

Harry swallowed again, trying to clear his throat. His heart was pounding. He started to reach for his wand, only for Tom's hand to shoot out, halting his movements with a painfully tight grip. A chill skittered up his spine.

This was too intense for him.

"Tom, this isn't funny," he snapped, echoing Tom's own statement.. _You're scaring me. _But he didn't say it aloud, his pride wouldn't currently allow it. If the twit tried anything though…Salazar what the hell had he got himself into? "Stop it."

"But I thought you liked talking about feelings," Tom replied, viciously. Too close. Any closer and they'd be touching. The hand on his face dropped to his tie, twirling it idly. He was going to throw up. Tom's eyes flicked up to his face, hard. "No?" he enquired delicately. "Then back off."

In an instant the tie was dropped and his hands released as Tom spun away from him, back to his earlier position of watching the Thestrals - now gone. Harry's heart restarted itself. Okay, Tom had been joking, right?

"I'll just…go then," he said, a little freaked out.

"Does this mean you're my minion then?" Tom asked. He paused, frowning._ I scare all my minions…_Harry felt a distinct annoyance fill his insides. Sadistic bastard.

"You know, if you didn't want to talk you could have just said so," he growled.

Without another word, he stormed out the Astronomy tower, to the cold sound of laughter behind him.

"But you react so charmingly! I thought you wanted to cheer me up..."

Ugh. He hated Psychopaths. It was like interacting with a bi polar schitzophrenic. He'd underestimated Tom's skills of evasion. Alphard was totally the one to try and help Tom next time. Never. Again.

What on earth was up with him, though?

A/N: Yup, I'm still here. Thanks for all the reviews, they are much appreciated and welcome. Yay. Another reminder this is NOT SLASH, will NEVER BE Slash, because I simply don't write it, or any type of romance. Hope you liked it - The Fictionist. 


	42. Chapter 41

Chapter 41:

"Are you okay Harry?" Hermione asked him worriedly as he slumped into the seat next to her. "You look a little ruffled."

He snorted. Ruffled. Right.

"Hermione, if I ever indicate a likelihood to show concern for Tom, just remind me of this day," he groaned, letting his head thump onto the back of the chair.

They were in an empty classroom near Gryffindor Tower - where he still wasn't particularly welcome, hence, why he slept in Slytherin dorms. Ron was out somewhere, suspiciously. He hadn't been in Gryffindor anyhow.

"Why? What happened?" she demanded. He tightened his jaw, glancing at her, even as a light flush crept up his cheeks. His best friend looked positively intrigued now. "Harry?"

"He…um…started hitting on me."

"WHAT?" Hermione shrieked.

"Not for real," he added hastily. "I'm pretty sure he's straight and was only doing it to get me to go away. I just…never again." Hermione was staring at him. "I was trying to find out was wrong with him," he explained. "He's been acting odd all day. I don't know why. He said," Harry faltered again, wrinkling his nose. "He tried to convince me it was because he had feelings for me and…urgh," he shuddered.

"Are you absolutely -" Hermione began.

"Yes! Damn it. He's not gay, I'm not gay and we're not a bloody couple!" he snapped. Hermione held her hands up in a placating manner.

"Okay, okay. I believe you. I mean, you act a bit like an old married couple, but I believe you."

Harry glared.

"Whose side are you on here?" he demanded. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Yours of course, don't be ridiculous."

They were silent for a moment.

"Harry," she started again. He turned his attention back to her. "Have you ever considered that he was being honest -"

"He wasn't seriously hitting on me," Harry protested automatically. "He's straight; and a psychopath to boot, he doesn't do feelings -"

"Hear me out," Hermione cut in. "I'm not saying he's got romantic feelings, and yes, he's a psychopath, but that doesn't mean he can't…care about things, right?" Harry was silent. Hermione continued a little nervously. "He could be reacting because he's not used to caring…having feelings, which would explain the mood swings you've told me about. You know, calm and joking one second, lashing out the next. Helpful to…" she trailed off with a shrug. "Has he been particularly, er, nice recently?"

His mind immediately went back to the last night. Hermione must have found something in his expression, because when she spoke again it was with an increased confidence.

"Exactly. If he doesn't act like that normally, then he could just be confused about why he's doing so now."

"It's possible," he conceded, before shooting her look as she opened her mouth to say something further. "No. Don't tell me to talk to him about it. Hell no. You weren't there, it was _creepy _and I was genuinely terrified that he wasn't going to stop on just hitting on me_._"

Hermione paled slightly, turning a peculiar green shade.

"Yeah," he said darkly. "That's what I thought."

He checked his watch. It was almost curfew. He rose with a great reluctance.

"I should go." He didn't actually move. Hermione stood as well.

"You could stay in Gryffindor for the night," she suggested. He shook his head.

"What, and let him think he's won? No way! I'll never here the end of it." He strode decisively towards the door.

"Harry," he paused at Hermione's voice, the desperate tone. "Be careful. Please. You say he's a psychopath…then he might not appreciate being…changed." He let her words sink in for a moment, repressing another shudder.

"Goodnight Hermione."

He entered the Slytherin Common room to find Zevi, Alphard and…pretty much every single person in the room, watching the Slytherin heir warily. Tom, on his part, was merely sitting reading and ignoring everyone around him.

Which wasn't all that unusual.

Most people considered themselves lucky to get any sign that the young Dark Lord was even paying attention when they addressed him. A flick of eye, a glance, was considered a good reaction. They put the lack of attention down to Tom being a genius and never needing to give anything his full attention is everyday life.

Harry put it down to Tom being an ass.

No, he was not bitter. Seeing that the other's disposition had in no way sweetened since their last meeting, he decided he couldn't be bothered to do anything but sleep. Tomorrow was a new day. A better one, hopefully - because the last two had been hectic.

"You're in a hurry," Tom remarked. The occupants in the room seemed to draw a visible intake of breath. "Considering how late you slept, you can't be tired. You normally function on far less sleep. Come, sit." Violet eyes didn't waver from the pages they were perusing. Harry kept his features composed, continuing across the room without looking back.

"Thanks, but no thanks," he said calmly. "I'd rather not. Night." He slammed the dorm room behind him. It was childish, but he wanted Tom to know that he was not happy with him and his twisted mind games. Closing his eyes for a moment, he headed for the showers and then, later, to his bed.

He sat doing homework on his bed. Alone. God, it was reminiscent of when he'd first been sorted into Slytherin, 50 years ago. He felt as isolated as he did then. Zevi walked in when he'd almost finished.

"Harry?" he began hesitantly. Harry made a noise of acknowledgement, but concentrated intently on his essay. "Alright?"

"Fine," he looked up, flashing a smile. "Am I directing this at you or your lord?"

Zevi flinched slightly and Harry rolled his eyes. Well, that answered that question.

"I'm your friend," Zevi said carefully.

"I don't doubt it," he sighed. "But your loyalty lies, and will always lie, with Tom. So forgive me I don't…ah…like talking about my feelings," he finished flatly.

Silence reigned, as the Prince Heir searched for something to say.

"Bye Zevi. And yes, you can _quote _me on that."

The dorm was abandoned once more.

He flopped back onto his bed, resolved to pretend to be asleep next time one of Tom's minions walked in to enquire as to his health. He knew Tom was pissed off to try something that see through, but Harry found he honestly didn't care. It would probably do the Slytherin Heir good to be ignored, he'd gone too long being the centre of attention.

Not to mentioned, he'd never actually decided against taking Tom's fingers off for stealing his memories.

The door opened once more.

"Harry?"

A/N: I am stunned by the reception of the last chapter. 16 reviews. Yay. I feel so happy =) Thank you so much. I'm glad you liked it. This one is not as exciting, forgive me, but it is in for a reason. Anyhow. Hope you enjoyed it. Adieu - The Fictionist


	43. Chapter 42

**Parseltongue. **

Chapter 42:

Harry turned at the familiar, but unexpected voice. Malfoy. Junior.

"Draco?" he questioned, frowning slightly.

There went the plan of pretending to be asleep. He didn't know why he called the other his first name, rather than "Malfoy" like he had every single time before that - maybe it was because the blonde called him Harry, maybe because of the remembrall, or maybe because of the nigh unnoticeable terror in the other's tone. It didn't really matter anyhow. "What are you -?"

"Riddle told me to persuade you to come down," Malfoy answered listlessly.

"You?" he asked incredulously. Draco shifted uncomfortably, meeting his gaze for the first time.

"Apparently because I've known you the longest and we seem to be…friends."

"Seem to be -" Harry blanched. "You don't think he knows that you gave me, the you know, do you? Thanks for that by the way."

"I don't know. But I don't like the way he was looking at me."

"Sh*t. I didn't say anything! I swear. I can't say I like you but…Salazar, even I'm not that cruel."

"Reassuring," Draco remarked dryly. He grimaced.

"Sorry. We're probably just being paranoid; there's no logical way he could know." There was a moment of silence. "I'm not coming down. Tom can stew for all I care."

Draco looked alarmed as he spoke:

"No, I'm not bloody going down there on my own - I can't! He'd dice me up for potions ingredients. You have to come, Potter, for god's sake!"

"Tell him I'm asleep," Harry offered.

"I'm not lying to the Dark Lord for you," Draco sneered.

Harry couldn't help but be painfully aware of the uneasiness that still lurked in the shadows of the youngest Malfoy's facial expressions. He began to curse his hero complex.

"Why the hell is he suddenly so insistent that I come and sit in the common room?" he muttered angrily. Okay, he was pretty sure he knew WHY, but…damn it. He was too tired to succumb to Tom's power plays and his twisted mind games. And he didn't mean tired in terms of sleep. Tom wanted him there because Harry had been so adamant against it - he wanted to assert his own dominance. Sometimes, Harry dreamed of easier, Gryffindor days.

It went against his principles to go down now, it was the same as submitting. The hero complex twanged at the nervous expression on Draco's face. Why did he have to feel like he owed the blonde something now?

"You could just stay up here," he shrugged. "Don't go back down."

Draco gawped at him as if he'd gone absolutely mad.

"Did you not hear the bit about him dicing me up for potion ingredients - Potter, Harry…if this is about your stupid _pride_-"

"Fine!" he snapped, standing up.

He looked around, debating on reading the book on Power Levels and Auras he'd found, before deciding against it because he didn't want to give the Slytherin Heir the satisfaction of seeing his curiosity. He grabbed some parchment and a quill, to pen a letter to Sirius and Remus, before storming past Malfoy and into the common room.

He felt eyes on him instantly when he emerged from the dormitories, Draco at his heels, but ignored them. He particularly ignored a certain, astute gaze that blazed against his skin like a white hot iron. He walked calmly over the far corner, away from Tom or any other Slytherin, sat down and proceeded to stare at his parchment.

The silence was suffocating; choking.

Coming down was the only concession he was going to give the megalomaniac, confusing bastard. He wouldn't acknowledge him, he wouldn't look at him. As far as he was concerned, Tom Riddle did not even exist within his periphery surroundings.

Slowly, conversation started up again, murmurings…and every so often he felt a chill run down his spine at the sharp set of eyes that pierced his features.

He ignored it.

* * *

Despite his chosen obliviousness to the world, he hated himself for being aware of the other presences in the room. He despised himself for being able to pinpoint exactly what Tom was doing, despite not actually accepting him as a person in the area.

The other Slytherin's were strong indicators, as was the atmosphere. That was why he knew to be wary when the room quietened, even for a split second, before the conversation surged more muted then before. He could feel the magic as it grew closer, though he gave no suggestion to his awareness.

"Who are you writing to?" Tom questioned. He didn't reply, re-reading his letter so far. He didn't even blink. He was almost certain that the Slytherin's were attempting to eavesdrop.

"You're giving me the silent treatment now? That's mature of you."

He scratched out a line, re-writing it.

_We're all missing our biggest friend. _

He could tell the young Dark Lord was getting irritated with him, at the casual dismissal of his presence. But Tom wasn't going to win this one.

Harry would rather gouge his own eyes out with a blunt and rusty spoon.

Besides, Tom had been ignoring him all day. He was merely obliging the other by not forcing his company. It seemed some people lacked that courtesy, unaware of when they were not wanted.

He needed to finish the letter, than he had a viable excuse to leave, because he had the sinking suspicion that Tom wasn't going to play fair. He never did. It was why Tom had more obvious victories than he did; Harry still had a modicum of honour.

_Looking forward to hearing from you, I have to say I'm missing sane - well, relatively, I know you Sirius!-company and conversation. Love,- _He paused, hesitant to use the word. Was that acceptable? Hermione put love at the end of all her letters to family and friends, but Hermione was a girl so he figured the rules were different.

Maybe best? Regards? Cheers? He tilted his head in thought, some part of his brain asking him why exactly he was so intent on thinking through one measly lexical choice, even if it was a potentially volatile one like 'love'. He ignored that part of his brain.

Personally, Harry thought he was getting quite good at this ignoring shindig.

He'd stick with love, why not? Sirius had written it at the end of a letter before, so that had to mean it was okay, right?

He reached to dip his quill into the inkpot again, before finding it had moved. He didn't want to shift his gaze up to see where it had moved to. He probably didn't need to. He cast a summoning charm, feeling a smug sense of triumph when it whizzed into his hand without the need for looking up. No, he was not being childish. Or stubborn.

_Love, Harry. _

"Harry, don't ignore me," Tom's voice was dangerous, deadly.

He waited a moment for the ink to dry so it wouldn't smudge, before folding the letter and moving to stand up. All without looking up.

Fingers curled around his wrist in a crushing grip, bringing his movement to an abrupt halt. One; one. Tom was breaking his façade of carelessness to react. That would not endeavour him to his minions.

Harry was careful not to let even the traces of a smirk grace his lips. He was cautious not to wince either, but the other's grip was tight enough to bruise. If it constricted any further Harry was pretty sure that some of the tiny, fragile bones in his hand were going to fracture.

He stared resolutely at the floor, resisting the urge to pull away or hold his breath. He was not going to react.

And Tom was not going to play anything less than filthy.

Taking advantage of the fact he was refusing to react or respond in any way, the other used his lack of struggle to haul him towards the sofa where he had been sitting. Shit. Struggle, don't struggle? Struggling is a reaction.

"Oh, you've found a way to shut him up then?" Lestrange asked

. Harry could hear the taunt in his voice. He ignored it. With difficulty.

"Mm," Tom said, his tone light - but Harry could pick up on the smallest tightness in it, the strain. He was seriously getting under the other's skin with this. He should do it more often. "I have him well trained - don't I, pet?"

Or not. Don't react. Don't react. Don't even look at him. It's what he wants. Harry repeated the mantra in his head. From experience, snapping back and fighting wasn't the most effective method for victory, so he would try something a little more unorthodox. Something unexpected.

He kept his gaze fixed on the floor. Being one of the smallest guys in the year, it was easier than trying to stare over someone's shoulder or over their head in a disregard of their existence.

"**Nothing to say, Harry?" **Tom hissed, close to his ear. He didn't shudder.

He was yanked into a sitting position, Tom's arm looped securely around his shoulders now. It was tight though, a fraction under choking. He could feel his muscles trying to tense up in response, his magic and his body itching to retaliate and throw the other off. **"No matter, I have all night." **

Harry decided he hated psychopaths. More than before. Even he could pick up on the highly awkward vibe on the air.

The rusty spoon suddenly seemed appealing.

A/N: Well. I hope you enjoyed the update. If you didn't, I apologise, I will humbly aim to improve my writing skills, or tell you to sod off if I'm feeling particularly aggressive or rebellious. Wow, I'm in an odd mood. Eek. Thanks for all the reviews, they make me smile like the Chesire Cat. Seriously. My family ask me what the hell I'm smiling to myself about…and I'm going to stop rambling… until next time: adios! 


	44. Chapter 43

Chapter 43:

Harry was distinctly un amused.

Tom, despite keeping an arm securely around his shoulders (or his waist) now seemed content to _ignore _him. Well, until he tried to move away, then suddenly he seemed to remember Harry was there long enough to mockingly chide his efforts and tug him back to his previous position.

It was infuriating and he wanted nothing more than to punch or curse the other into oblivion. Except, he just knew that such a reaction would only serve to delight Tom, which was counterproductive.

He had to play this sneakily, let his Slytherin side loose, beat Tom on his home turf.

The rest of the Slytherin's were watching them both carefully, warily, some with the faintest touch of sympathy in their eyes.

It was time to up his game.

Abandoning his silence caused Tom's gaze to immediately zone on him for a second, but he made no sign as to being aware of it, as he eagerly engaged Zevi and Draco in a conversation. He made sure to smile, laugh, lean forward and use his hands when making points, but not pay any attention to the Slytherin heir. The other's grip tightened fractionally in response, but otherwise Tom maintained his own light conversation with no change in expression.

Harry suppressed a smirk. Oh, he had to be seriously getting on the young Dark Lord's nerves for him to be able to tell so easily.

Success.

He still wanted to go up to bed though. This was simply making the best of a bad situation, he had no desire to actually be there. But he was, so he was going to do his best and damn the consequences. Misery loved company and Tom was NOT winning this round!

The night was wiling away and some of the other Slytherins, including all the younger years, had headed off to bed. It was, after all, a school week. Zevi and Draco were beginning to seem increasingly uncomfortable with Tom's frostiness towards them, for unwittingly aiding Harry in his endeavour.

Maybe, he could even ignore Tom to the point that he fell asleep…he would have done, he really would, but visions and nightmares had ingrained in him a hatred of sleeping and he most certainly did not trust Tom in this mood enough to actually relax enough around him to manage even a doze.

Soon, it was only him, Tom, Zevi, Abraxas, Lestrange and Alphard left in the common room. Draco had abandoned him, taking the opportunity opened by Blaise Zabini's, Theodore Nott's and his other snake buddies departure to make his own escape. Stupid ferret.

Harry was getting desperate for his victory and chose Lestrange to be his victim. He struck up a conversation, an argument, a banter - just like he would have with Tom. After several repartees he grinned, reaching over to mockingly pat Cygnus' shoulder, only to have his fingers yanked back and twisted. He had a moment to savour his triumph at causing Tom to snap his restraints and _react _where he himself didn't, before he felt his fingers break. Ouch.

"Get out," Tom ordered, his voice like ice.

He'd stopped playing now. Sore loser. Zevi and Alphard both leapt to their feet, more than happy for the excuse to flee the oncoming storm. Abraxas followed the order in a more sedate manner, his lips quirked in a way that spoke of the sensation of being reluctantly impressed. It wasn't often that someone beat Tom, and Harry was going to cherish the feeling. Cygnus flicked his gaze mulishly between them.

"Tom?" he questioned, not moving. Tom's gaze snapped to the brunette, his eyes wild.

"That was an order," he spat. Seemingly startled, terrified, by the sheer intemperate rage upon his lord's features, Lestrange fled.

All witnesses were gone.

* * *

Harry maintained his façade, just for kicks, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. Curiosity killed the cat, but damn it, he was so very curious about what Tom would do.

He loved pushing the other's boundaries, just as Tom adored playing his own twisted mind games in return. Tom just didn't like losing. Ha.

"What exactly are you trying to achieve?" Tom demanded.

God, his fingers…Tom shook him when he didn't reply, rough enough to make his teeth rattle in his mouth. "**Harry." **

"I don't know what you mean," he responded after letting Tom hang until the point where the other appeared genuinely about to murder someone just to bait a word from his lips. He didn't move his gaze from the floor just yet though. "I'm merely giving you the space that you wanted. Back off, wasn't it?"

"Oh, so you've just suddenly taken a liking to actually following my suggestions. How _convenient _for you," Tom sneered. Harry shrugged.

"That doesn't please you, _my lord_?"

"You are infuriating."

He was abruptly shoved away, back a few steps to put some space between them. His eyes scanned his hand instinctively in their freedom- the fingers were pulled grotesquely out of shape, starting to colour an awful purple-yellow colour. He couldn't move them, though they weren't broken like he'd thought: dislocated. Painful. He let his hand fall in a pretence that it didn't bother him. He'd fix his fingers when he was alone; thankfully it wasn't his wand hand.

He could hear Tom pacing and found himself looking up at the Slytherin Heir for the first time in hours. It was like watching a tempest trapped in a human body. He sucked in a breath despite himself when Tom rounded on him once more.

"Since when do you call me 'my lord'?" the other questioned.

"You don't like it?" he enquired delicately. "Isn't this what you wanted - you've proven you don't much care for my actions when I base them on friendship." Tom's expression darkened. He spoke before the young Dark Lord could. "But you know, that's fine. You've successfully cured me of making the effort for you, congratulations."

Tom was staring at him, his jaw set. He smiled sweetly back.

"And there was me thinking this was merely your rebellion against being ordered downstairs."

He could see thoughts spinning a million miles a minute behind those familiar clever eyes.

"That too," he replied, the smile vanishing as he grew serious. "I do not appreciate the psychotic mood swings, Riddle. You cannot switch between treating me like I'm nothing but your toy, the latest of your experiments, and then expect me to be favourable to your company. I will not stand for it. I'm not some elastic band you can keep pinging to see if it will always come back, because I can assure you right now that I won't. I am so sick to death of not knowing where I stand with you!"

"Where you stand with me? Why, aren't you needy today," Tom laughed cruelly. "You sound like an insecure girlfriend, I hope you realise that. It's pathetic."

For the love of!

"I guess that answers my question then," he replied quietly. "See you around."

Why did he have to feel disappointed? It was ridiculous.

He turned wordlessly, only to wince as his wrist was caught in a tight grip. It was getting repetitive.

"Wait. Don't you dare walk away from me."

"Now who sounds needy," Harry muttered spitefully. Tom ignored his words, pulling him back round to face him once more. He was silent for a minute, impassive, before speaking with a measured tone.

"I'm a psychopath, Harry. Clinically. You know this. You cannot possibly expect me to be - cuddly - like your lions. I do not care about people. I put myself above everyone else, and I always will. I respect you too much to tell you otherwise, I will not lure you in with some false traditional care. It would be nothing but an act -"

"Please," he scoffed, even as Tom frowned at the interruption of his 'important speech'. "I never expected you to be cuddly. That would be seriously disturbing. All I ever expected was for you to drop the bloody double standards and the sense of entitlement you seem to have about everyone around you. I have no obligation to you, I put up with your crap by choice. You could do with remembering that every once in while."

Tom was quiet, musing this over.

He tugged at his wrist, wanting more than anything to simply go to bed now. He was tired. He couldn't be bothered with this. Tom squeezed the bones together, in reprimand, to make him still, before loosening his grip again. Harry hid a sigh. He could have hexed the other off, but Tom had hold of his only working hand. Harry suspected he'd switched on purpose, anticipating the move.

The common room hummed in its silence. Hermione would be having a field day to hear them now. He'd ended up having that discussion about feelings after all.

"I suppose I can try, on one condition," Tom replied finally.

"What?" he asked guardedly.

"Never call me 'my lord' again. Not you. It's unnatural. Tom."

A/N: Well. That was a rather interesting chapter to write, I hope you found it interesting to read. Was it too OOC? Eek, I'm extremely nervous to post this. I'm going to hide. Aah. - The Fictionist.

PS: I am in absolute delighted shock. 25 reviews for the last chapter? I love you guys. Seriously! I feel very humbled, and I hope I live up to your expectations. 


	45. Chapter 44

Chapter 44:

The next few days passed in relative calmness, despite the outbreak of the war.

Some people would consider 'calm' to be an odd choice of word, but in a strange way it was entirely appropriate. For him, at least. Harry had always been aware of the war - the calm came from not having any major argument with Tom, and since he spent a lot (he was only beginning to realise how much) time around the young Dark Lord, that led to a rather large decrease in tension and trouble.

The slower pace of life gave him some much needed time to reflect on the twisted knots of his life, to distance himself and notice some things that he'd previously been too harried to pick up upon.

Like Ginny.

He'd had the sneaking suspicion that something was wrong with her; because her personality transformation had been too sudden to be natural, and Salazar, she hadn't been like that before…now he was almost certain. Looking at her, just with her friends or really, anyone who wasn't him or when he wasn't part of the conversation, she was perfectly normal. She was the girl he'd come to somewhat know from his summers spent with the Weasleys.

However, the second he came into the equation, it was as if someone had flicked a switch. The problem was, he didn't know how to confirm it or do anything about it - aside from going to Ron and Hermione, and Ron would most definitely go ballistic. He'd already approached the red head once, and that had gone nowhere, despite the youngest Weasley son's research efforts.

Harry was also thinking about breaching the topic of the remembrall with Tom once more - he'd given the other time to cool after all. Why did he even have to give Tom time to cool off? He was the one that had been obliviated.

Whatever.

At least he was still sleeping better due to Tom's block. They'd had another Occlumency since then, but there had been little progress. He felt like storming out the room in irritation, but still he did not reach his breaking point.. It was so unfair.

Tom said it was his own fault for being so stubborn in the face of torture. Harry supposed it was torture, in a way, re living his memories in the painful manner of having his mind torn open. He always had a headache after Occlumency. Not that he wasn't used to them. Still, strength against torture was _not _supposed to work against you - that was just cruel. He sighed.

He'd ask Tom about the remembrall today, after he'd finished reading the power levels and auras book. It was quite interesting really, but heavy reading. Tom, naturally, wasn't obliging enough to give him a hint as to what section of the massive tome he needed….therefore, he'd had to manually trawl through the monster of a book himself. Seriously, there had to be a quicker way to research, with magic? Unfortunately, if there was one, he didn't know it. At least, not when you weren't entirely sure what you were looking for. He'd know when he found it. Hopefully.

He'd taken to reading it a meal times just to find the time to get through it, damn his curiosity, which had prompted several odd looks (mate, you're turning into Hermione - ouch - no offence!) and a rather smug air of amusement from the Slytherin heir. The only thing he needed to work on now was not getting distracted by his thoughts, and actually doing the reading he'd assigned himself.

He would find out. Eventually.

He wasn't going to let Tom's ability to control other people's magic lie; it was far too dangerous.

"Any luck finding your answers yet?" Tom questioned lazily. "You've been reading that book obsessively for days."

Fate clearly didn't want him to succeed in that plan.

He lowered the book once more.

"I dare say it would be easier if I knew what I was looking for…or if you just told me."

"Perhaps, but I'm not going to encourage your laziness," Tom drawled. Harry scowled.

"I'm not lazy. I just don't particularly like reading." Tom's smirk broadened.

"I know….I believe the term is book dumb."

"Thanks," he said mildly. "What happened to I don't think you're stupid?" he rolled his eyes, turning back to the book. The third level of the aura is called the -

"I _don't _think you're stupid," Tom frowned. "I think you're book dumb."

"The clue's in the name, einstein," he replied. Really, dumb was a synonym for stupid - everyone knew that, wasn't Tom supposed to be a genius?

Admittedly, he wasn't really bothered, though he was coming to accept that he wouldn't be getting much reading done. He'd read about a paragraph since he'd sat down for lunch.

"The clue's in the definition, idiot," Tom responded carelessly. "Book dumb. You're hopeless with theory and knowledge from textbooks. It takes you ages to pick it up." he looked up again, finding his interest vaguely stirred now. Tom smiled thinly. "Your friend Hermione, along with the stereotypical Ravenclaw, is what some people might call Book Smart. Talented in Academics, not so good at applying theory to the real world. The opposite of people who are Book Dumb."

Tom favoured him with an unreadable expression.

"Honestly Harry, do you really think you'd be capable of duelling me if you were stupid, or that I would tolerate your company?"

"Tolerate?" he raised his brows. "I'm pretty sure I'm the one that's doing the tolerating." Zevi coughed into his drink, before growing as grave as a tombstone when Tom shot him a withering, scathing look.

"And I'm pretty sure you're deluded," Tom replied after a moment, sweetly. "But I'm polite enough not to point it out."

"I'll give you that one," Harry conceded, before grinning. "After all, there can be no other possible reason as to why I put up with you."

"Forget deluded. Born with a mental infliction. After all, there can be no other possible reason outside of stupidity - which we have concluded that you are not - that you would continue to insult me."

"Because it's fun?" Harry offered.

"Again," Tom smirked. "With the mental infliction."

The bell rang to signify that lessons would be starting soon, and the Slytherin's all rose.

"Oh, by the way, you're looking in the wrong book darling," the Slytherin Heir added innocently.

Harry glanced down at the book, gritting his teeth.

"You said aura's and power levels."

"Yes, and there's more than one book on the subject. I never said the one you needed was in public domain." Harry slammed the tome back into his bag. Now Tom said something - after he'd read 90% of the bloody thing.

He still needed to talk about those remembralls though.

A/N: I am blown away by the response I am getting for this story. Wow, I never realised you guys liked it so much. Thank you so much. I am honoured. I apologise for this chapter, it's not the most interesting :/ hope you enjoyed it anyway. Adios - The Fictionist. 


	46. Chapter 45

Chapter 12:

Harry got the opportunity to approach the conversation of the Remembrall after dinner, when they both settled into the Room of Requirement for another Occlumency lesson.

"Tom? He began, the words bursting out of his mouth right before the other was about the enter his mind once more. Tom paused.

"Backing out, Harry?" he questioned. Harry shook his head, frowning slightly.

"No, I just - the Remembrall. What's in it? Surely you have some idea?" Tom was silent, watching him impassively. "Uh, you know the one for Godric's Hollow?" he added.

"Yes," Tom said quietly. "I know which one you mean."

Harry waited for him to continue, but when no answer seemed forthcoming he raised his eyebrows.

"Well?" he prompted.

"Legilimens."

On an instant he was on his knees once more, trying to block out the flow of memories Tom was inducing with his intrusion. _The troll, a club swinging down at Hermione's head…laughing with Ron and Hermione in the common room…sitting in Divination, third year, making up predictions for his death. _After a moment, just like normal, the presence was gone again, leaving him gasping for breath.

"Tom-"

The thoughts were rushing through his head again. Visions of Death Eater raids, and winning the house cup, flying on Buckbeak and being chased down a street by Dudley's gang. The sensation cleared after a moment, with Tom regarding him thoughtfully.

"Did you mean to produce the effects of a stinging jinx?" the Slytherin Heir questioned.

"No - Tom -"

"-I thought not," the other levelled a wand once more in his direction. "Legilimens."

"Protego!" he snapped.

The next second he was hurtling through memories…duelling, learning of another parseltongue...Godric's Hollow…a wall seemed to slam down, hard and fast and Harry was tossed back, the back of his head smashing against the foot of the couch he had previously pulled himself up to lean against.

There was a moment of utter silence.

"Well, that was a slight improvement, albeit technically cheating," Tom said. "You're supposed to be in a mind art lesson, defence of the mind not the magic… though I must say you'd make a remarkable legilimens, perpetually nosy as you are, I'm impressed, even if our connection did aid you in that endeavour." The tone was a fraction frosty. "Anyhow, as I am not teaching you how to cast shields…leg-"

Harry threw up another shield charm, eyes flashing.

"Stop it," he ordered. "I'm trying to have a conversation here. You're evading the question!"

"Actually, I'm trying to teach you Occlumency," the other drawled lazily.

"Tom." He glared at the Slytherin heir, not lowering his wand. "What memory is in that remembrall, you know, don't you? Tell me."

Tom's expression was unreadable, but his wand moved from pointing directly in his direction. Harry took that as an invitation to finally pursue the topic. "Please," he implored, shifting his own wand to a less hostile stance.

"You don't want to know," the young Dark Lord spoke finally.

"Tell me anyway," he pressed, taking a step forward. Tom's eyes were probing, assessing, and if Harry didn't know what Tom's mind felt like and what Legilimency felt like, he would have sworn up and down that Tom was reading his mind there and then. He wasn't though.

"You misunderstand me. You _really _don't want to know," Tom said.

"I'm asking," he replied simply. Tom looked away for a moment, jaw tight, before looking back at him.

"Don't you trust me?" he asked. Harry was silent, not willing to touch that volatile topic, merely waiting expectantly. Tom made a sound in the back of his throat. "So stubborn," he murmured. "Always so bloody stubborn."

Harry didn't move under the intense scrutiny he found himself under once again, and was rewarded when Tom wordlessly pulled the remembrall out of his pocket, not breaking their gazes.

He reached to take it, only to find Tom wasn't willing to let go of it - presumably hence he break it to release the memories within. He gave a slight tug, as if to encourage Tom's fingers to loosen their hold on the smoky orb. They didn't yield, nor did the gaze on his face.

"Look at it," Tom suggested. Immediately, Harry glanced down. It was cracked. The remembrall had dozens of miniscule cracks littering its surface. He looked up again, searchingly.

The remembrall had clearly been broken and fixed under the reparo multitudinous times, hundreds of times, for the charm to lose its effect and show the effects of what had once been shattered, rather than seamlessly moulding the glass into its ball.

"You chose to forget," he said. An unease filtered his insides. He was beginning to think Tom was right and that he really didn't want to know. Then again, he didn't _want_ to know the innermost workings of Voldemort's mind either….

"But you have a theory," he guessed, scouring the other's face for any sign to indicate whether he was right or not. Tom's features were a mask, a stone; surrendering no trace of emotion. "Tom?"

"Yes." Tom abruptly pulled his hand back, pocketing the remembrall once more. "Now, shall we move onto to Occlumency without shield charms?"

Without waiting for an answer, the Slytherin Heir raised his wand, directly at his chest. Recklessly, Harry took hold of the handle of Tom's wand, above Tom's own fingers, pushing the wand away from his direction.

"What's your theory?" he asked softly. The Slytherin Heir tried to yank his hand back, as if he were scalded.

"You promised to give me no attitude, Tom stated flatly. "Unless you want these lessons to end, with your abysmal control of Occlumency, I'd fulfil that. You're trying my patience."

"And you're trying mine," he retorted. "It's just a theory, right?"

Tom was unmoved, eyes still not leaving his own. Harry remembered uncomfortably that anyone who held your direct gaze for over six seconds was said to want to kill you. "You know I'll find out anyway. You might as well tell me."

Tom had been looking at him for a lot longer than six seconds. Maybe that was just Tom though. No sense of social rightness if he chose to ignore it.

"Let. Go," the young Dark Lord's orders were clipped now, cold. Harry felt frustration build in his chest.

"I promised you no attitude, you promised me you wouldn't go bipolar on me. Come on, I'm your friend! Tell me."

Tom froze, no longer trying to pull away. Harry resisted the urge to stiffen in response, to hold his breath. He'd never acknowledged that word before. Or any word really, to describe their rather convoluted relationship.

He let his hand drop back to his side, unnerved and wondering if he'd gone too far. Tom immediately walked away from him, pacing across the room like a caged tiger…or a trapped snake. Despite his best efforts, Harry found himself holding his breath.

"You spend a lot of time in Voldemort's head," Tom stated. He nodded, when Tom glanced at him sharply. "You know from the reactions we oftentimes get, like with the Aurors, that you existed in this timeline and that people know who Harrison Evans is. Our time in the past happened."

Harry could feel himself tensing, not knowing where this was going, but suspecting from the deadly serious expression on the others face, the lack of banter, that this was going to be Bad with a capital B. He nodded again. "You know Voldemort knows who you are then, Harrison Evans is Harry Potter."

Dread was starting to curdle in stomach, rancid and bitter.

"Yes…" the list. Another issue.

"Then have you never wondered why in all your times in Voldemort's head you've never seen my memories of this. This conversation. Now." Tom turned to face him, folding his arms, eyes dark.

"I believe the memory is the time I spend here."

Harry's blood ran cold.

A/N: Well. Slightly more interesting chapter. I think. Thanks for all the reviews, they are much appreciated and I hope you enjoy this update. 

PS: Some people have expressed confusion over the ending. Basically, the idea I was trying to get through was that the memory in the remembrall, or Tom's theory of what's in it, is that it is the time Tom spends in Harry's time. Everything that's occuring in this fanfic. Does that make any sense? 


	47. Chapter 46

Chapter 46:

A great sense of disquiet settled over Harry's gut. Didn't that mean Tom really did become Voldemort, regardless of his own attempts to stop it? He felt sick. Or did it mean that he had made a difference, which is why someone saw fit to Obliviate the young Dark Lord? To make sure that history still happened the way it should?

Yet, Tom had ensured that his memory and mind couldn't be tampered with…after all, when Harry had tried so long ago it had been a total failure. But what if Tom obliviated himself? Then it would work….why would Tom do that?

Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Oh god, maybe he wasn't! Hermione had always said that Tom might not appreciate everything that came with being forced to feel.

"I told you that you didn't want to know," Tom said, in a casual tone of voice. He looked up to see the other watching closely, the intensity of the gaze belying his nonchalant manner.

"Well," he shrugged, for an illusion of confidence. "It's just a theory anyhow. We both know that you're not always right, however much you may try to insinuate otherwise."

Tom smiled, briefly, mirthlessly.

"I'm not often wrong, either," he countered softly. Harry clenched his jaw, glancing away.

"Often isn't always," he replied tightly.

"No," Tom agreed. "It's not."

"Screw fate," Harry declared. "She's a spoilt bitch anyway."

The smile turned just a tiny bit more genuine. There was an uncomfortable pause, which they both endeavoured to sweep away before the silence became too clogging.

"Onto Occlumency," Tom began, even as Harry simultaneously asked :

"Can I open it?" Tom frowned slightly. "The remembrall," he clarified. "I mean, if we know about it before hand, surely we can sway events into our favour?"

"No," Tom said.

"What do you mean no?" Harry struggled to modulate his tone, knowing that he would only lose his standing in this argument if he started shouting like a child in the fits of a temper tantrum.

"I mean no, you're not going to interfere with it," Tom stared at him with dark eyes. "Awful things happen to those who meddle with time, Harry."

"Doesn't stop you," he retorted.

"Well," Tom smiled, coldly. "You're not me…but if you're so bothered, why don't you ask Draco to steal it for you? You two are good friends now, right?"

Harry's blood chilled, ice twisting in his stomach like snowy maggots.

"Draco? Draco Malfoy? Since when have I been good friends with the ferret?" he replied, trying to bluff it, laughing as if the very idea was ridiculous. Tom's smirk broadened.

"Harry," he began. "I grow up to work with - as you call it - bloody backstabbing death eaters…do you really think I'm not aware of everything that goes on around me? Let alone in my own circle? He enquired delicately.

Harry's laughter faded, though he kept his features expressionless.

"You've got something of a track record for sabotage," Tom continued. "Did you honestly believe I don't pay your goings on particular attention?"

Any smile had vanished from the other's face now, as he watched him carefully. Harry couldn't think of what he may be looking for, though he was filled with the awful suspicion that he was being tested for something. After a moment of silence, he realised that those questions probably hadn't been rhetorical - he was actually expected to respond.

"I'd have thought you'd be annoyed if you thought Malfoy and I to be in cahoots against you," he replied carefully, raising his brows.

"Worried over the fate of your pet ferret?" Tom questioned coolly in return. Harry frowned slightly.

"You know, Draco was only doing what a good friend should do. Unlike you, I may add…so really, you have no right to do anything, considering you're the bastard who erased my memory to begin with, which created the whole problem of why I would need the remembrall in the first place," Harry said, glaring. "I still haven't forgiven you for that, by the way."

"Yes, I am aware of that," the Slytherin Heir replied, sounding a tad bored now. "Why do you think he is still alive?" Tom paused, tilting his head thoughtfully. "You really are dreadfully boring when you are sulking."

Harry resisted the urge to gape.

"I'm sure Malfoy will find your apparent desire for my company a very reassuring reason for his continued existence," he deadpanned, unable to help himself. "Considering how you have more mood swings than a teenage girl."

Tom scowled at him, menacingly, for the comparison, before his expression cleared.

"Perhaps you should be extra nice to me then," he suggested. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm always nice to you," he replied, though he felt a flitter of unease at the words.

"Harry, you're a sabotaging, disrespectful twit. Most people wonder why I put up with you."

"It's because I'm awesome," he said wisely. Tom arched his brows.

"Keep telling yourself that," he drawled. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Oh I will keep telling myself, honesty and all that. You're just insanely jealous because you could never hope to compare."

"No, I doubt I could," Tom smirked. "I'd never fall that low."

"Ouch," Harry winced mockingly. "That cuts deep Riddle, right here." He placed a hand on his heart. "Seriously, I may never recover from the sheer wittiness of your barbs."

"Don't worry, most people don't."

"Wow, that's amazing…I think I _genuinely _saw your head swell a bit there…"

"Shut up Harry."

It was only much later, as he lay in bed, his roommates fast asleep in their slumbers beside him, that Harry noticed how Tom had successfully diverted the conversation away from the remembrall.

A/N: Hi, again! It's me. Thank you so much for the reviews! I love re-reading them whenever I'm feeling down, or insecure about this story (happens frequently, though I've recently had a large burst wherein I considered deleting the entire story). They are much appreciated. Well, I hope you enjoy the update. Is the plot moving too quickly all of a sudden? Or does it seem okay, by the way? Ooh, that rhymed. Damn is should probably sleep…anyhow. Hope you liked it! Adios! - The Fictionist. 


	48. Chapter 47

Chapter 47 (and hell, when did I get so near 50!)

When Harry awoke the next morning, Tom was already gone.

What a surprise. The other could try and claim that he wasn't trying to avoid questions about the remembrall, but that was obviously a lie.

Did Tom truly believe he was destined to become Voldemort? Salazar.

No, it was too early. He wouldn't think of it before he'd even had breakfast, it would only make him feel nauseous. Well, more so than he already did. He like a good, strong caffeine shot for breakfast, thank you very much.

He rolled out of bed, blearily. Ever since Tom had put up the block, he'd slept a lot better. Which reminded him, he still needed to find that accursed information on Power Levels. Knowing Tom, the other had probably been fully aware that the appropriate piece of text explaining his question was utterly obscure. It was just like Tom to find amusement in watching him slave away and hunt through books for hours, smug in the knowledge that he could oh so easily just answer the question himself. And Tom called him lazy? Honestly.

He headed down towards the Great Hall, debating Quidditch with Abraxas. The Malfoy was adamant that Slytherin was going to trash Gryffindor in the oncoming match. Harry disagreed. It didn't matter if they were soon to hold trials for a Keeper, they would still beat the snakes hands down.

Tom was sitting at the Slytherin table, he noted, when he entered the hall. The young Dark Lord's eyes flicked up as they approached, still bickering good naturedly over the best sport in the world. He smiled briefly, not quite awake enough to attempt a greeting (well rested or not, he would never be a morning person) before spying Ron and Hermione and going to sit at the Gryffindor table for once.

Some of them, like Ginny specifically, glared at him but he ignored them - albeit, regarding the youngest Weasley with a disturbed curiosity. Something was definitely amiss there. Closer up, the other looked drained and tired…much like she had in first year. A chill skittered up his spine. He ignored that parallel too.

For now.

Ron was yawning deeply into his hand.

"Late night?" he asked. Ron reddened for some odd reason, before hastily nodding.

"Yeah…couldn't, er, sleep."

Liar. And dear god, his thoughts were even beginning to SOUND like Tom…he was going to schedule in a break from the Slytherin heir sometime. Spending just under twenty fours with a psychopath, or in close proximity anyhow, was probably psychologically damaging. Even if the psychopath in question was your kind of best friend, and a very talented actor. Especially then.

"Oh?" Hermione questioned worriedly. "Are you feeling okay? You're not getting sick, are you?"  
Ron flushed further. Hermione was studying the red head, and they both exchanged looks of interest.

"Nah, I'm fine," Ron yawned again, promptly diving into his food with a gusto.

Suspicious. Very Suspicious.

He settled down with breakfast, not paying attention to the customary swoop of owls as they delivered the morning post.

"Harry," Hermione prodded him after a moment, her voice shaky and her hands brandishing the Daily Prophet in front of his nose.

It seemed the Daily Prophet had finally gone open with the war.

The Death Eater raid was splattered across the cover, continuing into a full three page spread. As if everyone weren't already aware of it. Still, something about the acknowledgment made him feel tired, made it more official despite his hatred of the press. It was acknowledged now, and things would only get worse.

He lost his meagre appetite.

"Page five," Hermione whispered. Ron was leaning over, almost grabbing the paper out of Hermione's hands with his eagerness. If the situation wasn't so dire, as all his situations appeared to be nowadays, he would have cracked a joke about Ron being more enthusiastic about reading something than Hermione, the quasi Ravenclaw, was. As it was, he didn't have the heart for it. Ron swore.

"That's bang out of order, mate," he exclaimed irately. Curiosity roused, Harry looked over at page four: 'The Dark 'Savior' of the Light."

It was all about him, and his apparent descent into Death Eaterness and darkness. He would have laughed, if he wasn't so disgusted. He glanced over at the Slytherin table. Tom was looking back for him, eyebrow arching as if to mockingly say "now really, you should have told me if you felt that way."

The whole hall was roaring with whispers, and he could feel eyes boring at his skin like a million miniscule needles. For god's sake. They'd all been there for the scene with the Dursleys (and what the hell had happened to the Dursley's anyway? Not that he cared, but it had been slightly random…another thing to look up if he didn't keep putting it off in distraction.) He rolled his eyes.

Another owl swooped in, dropping a letter in his lap. He sighed, feeling the stares from the head table and recognising the loopy handwriting. Dumbledore.

_Harry, please come to my office after breakfast. I will write a pass for any lesson time that you miss. I have a partiality to Fizzing Whizbees. AD._

It was short, but to the point. Harry debated silently over whether or not to bother, but in the end decided to go and see what the old man wanted. He didn't hate Dumbledore after all, he just severely disagreed with his manipulative streak…but then again, if he was willing to play ball with Tom after the memory charm, he supposed it was only fair to give the Headmaster a hearing too.

He could always walk out again.

Not to mention, a private meeting with Dumbledore would drive Tom insane with inquisitiveness…it served the secretive git right. No, he wasn't being childish - and annoying Tom was NOT his only reason. He looked up at the head table, to find blue eyes already resting on his form. He nodded once, setting the parchment on fire.

"Who was that from?" Ron asked.

"Dumbledore," he said honestly. His eyes moved over to the Slytherin table again to see Tom's gaze narrowed on the leader of the light, with loathing. It seemed the other had noticed the message exchange; not that he'd thought Tom wouldn't.

"Get notes for me, will you Hermione?" he requested. His best friend nodded, anxiously.

Breakfast drew to a close.

AN: Thank you thank you thank you for all your amazing reviews. The interest this story is getting is fantastic! I'm so happy. Yay. I'm glad you are all still enjoying this, and I hope this satiates you're appetites for more. It seems a bit rough (the whole story) to me, but if you like it, than that's all that matters. - The Fictionist.

_PS: HARRY POTTER AND THE DH2 IS OUT ON FRIDAY! I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE IT! I'm insanely excited! And also feeling very nostalgic…oh, it's the end of my childhood… _


	49. Chapter 48

Chapter 48:

As he was about to say goodbye to Ron and Hermione and leave for Dumbledore's office, a hand caught his arm.

"What does the old man want?" Tom demanded. He didn't look happy. Ron flared up immediately at the tone and the bruising grip.

"He doesn't have to tell you, it's none of your business!" the red head snapped. Tom dismissed the Weasley with a curt glance.

"Harry?" he questioned coolly. Harry shrugged, disentangling his arm with a practiced nonchalance.

"No idea," he replied. "_Might_ get back to you when I find out."  
The other's gaze darkened, and his - THE Slytherins came to an uneasy halt outside the Great Hall.

"Tom," Zevi began uncertainly, coming to an abrupt silence at the young Dark Lord's cold expression.

"I'll see you later - Hermione, the notes."  
He turned to leave.  
"He's a manipulative coot, golden boy," Tom reminded acidly. Hermione frowned.

"And you're so much better, right?" she insinuated in a polite tone of voice. A smirk graced Harry's features. Tom's gaze snapped to his best friend. His smirk vanished. Oh no.

"How dare you talk to him," Lestrange hissed, taking an advanced step forwards. "You filthy little mud blood."

Harry immediately whipped around at the words, wand in hand, threats of making Cygnus vomit dirt and sludge for the next week hot on his lips. Ron also had his wand drawn, red faced as his hair. There was a sharp smacking sound and Harry's mouth almost dropped open.

Cygnus staggered back from Hermione, his cheek scarlet. Hermione had slapped him - !

The amusement faded instantly as Abraxas, Alphard and Zevi all joined Lestrange in his hostile stance, ready to attack. The congeniality of the Slytherins had dropped, fading like a smoke screen at the attack on one of their own. For a moment, the only thing his gut could scream was _Death Eaters. _

He snapped his wand up, stepping between the two groups. There was a moment of utter silence.

Tom was the only one who hadn't drawn his wand, merely standing in the same spot he had been, head tilted back slightly and eyes fixed on Harry's form with a lazy, entertained gleam. Waiting. Testing to see what he would do, how he would react.

Damn it. The Slytherins eyed him warily. Zevi looked disappointed.

Then, slowly, barring Lestrange, they put their wands back into their respective resting places and walked away, waiting for Tom at the end of the corridor. Tom's jaw tightened.

Apparently, he had just failed something or other.

"Cygnus," the Slytherin heir stated. Lestrange glared at him, them, furiously, before lowering his wand and walking away with Tom. Ron and Hermione both stowed their own wands away, while he turned and walked towards Dumbledore's office

He had a horrible feeling that the test he just failed would be coming back to bite him when he ran into Tom again.

***FATE'S FAVOURITE***

Entering Dumbledore's office was like going back in time to his fourth, or even his second year. Nothing had changed. Fawkes' trilled at him from his(?) perch, the spindly silver instruments adorned a cluttered desk and rows of books. The portraits peered at him with interest. The Headmaster himself sat serenely behind his desk, fingers clasped just under his chin.

"Har-" Dumbledore began, before smoothly corrected his address to "Mr Potter" at Harry's expression.

"Professor Dumbledore," he greeted neutrally. "You wanted to see me."

Dumbledore nodded, gesturing that he should take a seat. Warily, he did so. Harry hoped the Headmaster was intuitive enough to skip the pleasantries. He'd had enough of watching everything he did and second guessing and pretences with Slytherin. It would be a welcome break if Dumbledore, for once, would just get to the point and be straight forward. Thankfully, the old man seemed to get the message…or maybe his posture was just radiating desperation or something.

"Firstly, I feel I must apologise to you," Dumbledore started, eyes sorrowful. "For both the treatment you suffered at the hands of your relatives and for my behaviour towards you."

Harry nodded slightly, acknowledging the apology even if he was as of yet unyielding in forgiveness. A few nicely phrased words wouldn't cut it this time. He waited for explanation. Dumbledore was studying him, carefully. For a moment, Harry felt like he was on the verge of something, then the headmaster asked:"

Did you ever endeavour to find out of what came upon your companions, in their futures?" Harry debated silently for a moment.

"No," he replied uneasily. "But I presume you're going to tell me." Dumbledore seemed to leap on the chance.

"Abraxas Malfoy died young, in his early thirties, supposedly of 'Dragon Pox'. Alphard Black was murdered hours after he left his inheritance to Sirius, your godfather. Cygnus Lestrange passed away in a blaze of dark glory in the first rising of Voldemort, Tom's right hand man, an old man. Zevi Prince was killed in the days after his wife gave birth."

Harry swallowed down his nausea. He didn't want to know that. Why had he almost baited the headmaster into telling him? Some part of his mind had saw it as a concession…he saw it now it was tainted knowledge. How was he supposed to look them in the face now and…_your Godfather. _No, none of them would have been killed for their ties to him. They can't have been. It was just…they'd died so YOUNG.

"Do you know the reason that there hasn't been an uproar, Harry?" Dumbledore continued kindly. "No one knows of Voldemorts past. He never told, and he left no one alive to share it. Only in the deepest roots of the dark side are there even whisperings of the name he used to hold."

Harry stood up, abruptly. It had been a bad idea to agree to this meeting. The Headmaster rose too, his expression pleading.

"He's dangerous Harry. He may not be Voldemort but he's not innocent, he's not a good man. He is, however, an extremely talented, convincing actor."

Harry strode away wordlessly, only to have the door lock in his face. He grit his teeth, his magic swelling, a dozen emotions pounding under his skin.

"Open the door," he ordered coldly.

"I implore you to see reason - we _need _you. Without you, the light of this world is doomed,"

He had never heard Dumbledore sound like this. So desperate, practically begging. His hero complex twitched, his rage incomparable.

"Why me?" he snarled, turning again. "Why does it have to be me! Tell me!"

"Have you ever heard of horcruxes?"

A/N: Hmmm, I'm not sure how happy I am with this. I hope you guys managed to like it and enjoy it however. Thank you so much for the reviews, I would name you all and send you chocolates if I could. *Virtual chocolates go flying for the taking.* - The Fictionist

PS: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 = O I won't say anymore, spoilers and all that…


	50. Chapter 49

Chapter 49:

Harry slowly sank back into his seat at Dumbledore's explanation.

Horcruxes. Part of a soul trapped in an object, creating a pseudo immortality.

Oh god, it all made a horrible sort of sense. Hadn't Tom even said something to him about being the 'original' soul? How could he have not questioned that? Stupid.

It would explain why and how Tom changed from Tom to well, Voldemort. Currently, sure there were similarities between the two of them, alarming similarities which never failed to send shivers dancing like devils up his spine, but there were also noticeable differences. Not just in appearance. Salazar.

"So you think Voldemort has made a…horcrux? He's immortal?" He demanded, trying not to let his voice shake.

It was horrific. It was just too horrible to even imagine. Dumbledore might call this dark magic, but it went way beyond that. This magic was old, and black and absolutely tainted. To split the soul…that was wrong. Seriously, genuinely wrong. He felt sick.

Dumbledore appeared grave as he rooted through his desks before pulling out a rather familiar diary.

"I believe he's made several," the Headmaster stated. _Several_? "I knew the moment you brought me this that this was a different type of magic, very dark, very powerful."

"Several?" he repeated. Dumbledore nodded.

"I need more evidence, but I believe so, yes."

Harry blinked.

"He said, at the graveyard, that he'd travelled further, experimented more than any other wizard…something like that. He could have been talking about horcruxes."

They sat in silence.

"So, if we destroy the horcruxes, we destroy Voldemort -" he stopped. Nausea clawed up his throat with monstrous talons. "How can you…tell if something is a horcux? Does it have to be an inanimate object or?" Dumbledore stared at him, startled. Harry closed his eyes. Shit. Oh shit. "Is that why _I _have to do it sir? Cause I'm a horcrux? Can only Voldemort destroy his horcruxes? And I'm - sir, I'm a parselmouth."

His mouth felt dry. Dumbledore's head tilted, it seemed as if he were furiously thinking something through. Harry just wanted an immediate denial. He felt filthy.

"Yes, that is why," Dumbledore leaned forward, eyes blazing with sorrow. "You understand why I didn't want to tell you my dear boy…you are so young." Harry swallowed thickly. So what? He killed the horcruxes and then killed himself?

He wasn't even a bloody soldier, he was a sacrifice. He needed to talk to Tom. Wait, no, he couldn't do that! What if that conversation was the one that gave him the idea of horcruxes in the first place? How could he even start such a conversation?

"I-I need time to think," he said, rising numbly. Dumbledore scrawled him a pass for his missed class. The door was unlocked once more.

"Harry," Dumbledore spoke up, quietly. He paused, outside the door. "It's not Voldemort who started making horcruxes. It's Tom." He was silent for a moment.

"Goodbye, professor."

***FATE'S FAVOURITE***

He entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, halfway through the lecture. Carrow sneered at him as he walked in.

"I've got a pass from the headmaster," he said flatly, to pre-empt her no doubt snide remark. Her lips pursed as she took the note, reading it, before scrunching it irately in her hand. The whole class was alight with whispers and stolen glances in his direction. Not looking at anyone, he simply dropped into an empty seat at an empty desk in the back corner of the room.

Right now, he really didn't want the cliché pressure and catwalk style gawping as he weaved his way down the aisles to sit either by Tom or Ron and Hermione. It was too much of a statement of alliance either way, and he was TRYING to be grey.

His left arm throbbed, the snake twisting into existence and hissing questions at him. He didn't care to reply, or look up.

Peevishly, Carrow called attention back to the front of the room and her lecture on the defensive and offensive uses of freezing spells.

On auto pilot, he took out parchment and a quill, but didn't tune in to take notes, staring intently down at the table. He could sense Ron and Hermione trying to catch his eye every now and again, but pretended to be oblivious. The throbbing in his arm grew distinctly more painful as he continued to ignore that too. His things were already packed once more by the time the bell rang for break.

There was a bustling around him, one that he felt both hyperaware of and dull to at the same time. His insides felt awash with ice. Every now and then, he caught his fingers compulsively digging nails into his own arms, marked by crimson beads and a slight stinging sensation.

He started for the door. The next second, it felt like he'd rammed into a wall - or, at least, his arm had. It was as if a vice had clamped round it, preventing him from going further.

Actually, he didn't know if he was being fantastically paranoid, but he could have sworn he'd felt the smallest leash-like tug that he should come back. The Slytherins reached him at the same time Ron and Hermione did. He could practically feel Tom's irritation at that. Oh god, feel it. Horcrux. The nails tightened again.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, distressed. Her hand closed on his, tugging his fingers away from each other. Nail marks, so similar to those that disguised Tom's snake on his arm, glared up at them from the whiteness of his skin. "What's wrong?" she demanded. "What did Professor Dumbledore say?"

"I'm fine. It's nothing," he replied. His words sounded lame even to himself, and Zevi's Snape-esque arch of the brow confirmed it.

He tried to continue walking again, only to find his arm still locked in place.

He glanced at Tom, infuriated. The other gave no reaction, no change in countenance, but Harry could somehow sense the air of mockery, the challenge. Normally, Tom would have eased off at this point, having proved that he _could _pull Harry around on puppet strings and make him go along with things, if he wanted to.

This time, the pressure didn't yield. This time, Tom was feeling particularly inquisitive (and why had that earlier seemed like a good thing?) and not particularly happy with him. This time, Tom had no qualms about forcing his dominance, his control.

He wanted to tell Tom to let go, but that would mean admitting to the mark, and hadn't told anyone about it. Of course, he could always say it in parseltongue but…horcrux. That was why he could speak Parseltongue. That was probably why he was reasonably good with Dark Arts. Hell, how was he supposed to know what was him rather than Voldemort? His fingers curled and Hermione tightened her grip on his arm.

"Harry, you're not bloody fine!" Ron said angrily, worriedly. Everything seemed to building up, his stress levels rocketed up to boiling point. Screw nobody knowing.

"Later," he told Tom. "We're not doing this now." Tom was hardly one for yielding, he wasn't in the habit of making concessions. Yet, with Harry, he was normally willing to compromise, so would agree to later, right? That was a compromise. That was how they worked. Tom got his way (unless Harry himself particularly cared, because then he would concede to anything) but Harry got a 'rare' concession. It worked. Tom's eyes were hard.

"Yes, we are," he replied. Harry resisted the urge to swear. Yeah, Tom was in a really bad, stubborn mood. The problem was he wasn't being 'biopolar', so Harry couldn't use that. He had no ground.

When he gave no response Tom smirked before walking away. Harry could feel the mark tugging at his very bones, burning. If Tom got any further away, he was going to end up being psychically dragged along behind him if it didn't ease up. Bloody Bastard. He hoped he wasn't expected to keep his temper.

"Let's go, golden boy," Tom called over his shoulder. Harry's fists clenched.

"I'll see you guys later," he told Ron and Hermione, tightly. "You'll give evidence of this when I'm tried for his murder, right?" They started to speak, but he was already walking to catching up with Tom.

"Ease up, asshole, you're about to rip my arm off," he hissed.

"In." Tom opened the door to an empty classroom.

This was an unfairly horrible day. It wasn't even Halloween.

A/N: Well, here you go. I hope you liked it/like it. Mucho thanks for your amazing reviews, they're inspiring. My internet access is limited, so my updates may become even more irregular than they already are for the summer. Apologies. 

Review Challenge: Because I am so inspired, and because I haven't updated Destiny's Darling in ages, I have decided that on every 100th review (next one is 700, and oh my god, aaah, 700 reviews! Wow) will get to give me a (non slash) scenario to write regarding this fic/universe. If you want to take it up, you don't have to. But I thought it would be fun. 

Okay, bye. 

PS: Yes, I still haven't shut up. Sorry. Question; Do you want Fate's Favourite to have a happy ending? Cause I'm hitting a possible turning point within the next chapters?


	51. Chapter 50

Chapter 50: 

The door of the abandoned classroom closed behind them both, locking with a soft click.

Harry folded his arms, leaning back on one of the desks, waiting for Tom to speak. He didn't have to wait long. "What did Dumbledore want?" Tom demanded. He was silent, staring back. "Start talking!"

Harry pulled a hesitant face, before finally replying in a tone of utmost secrecy.

"You know I'm The Boy Who Lived and all that?" he said. Tom nodded, presumably in an encouraging manner. "Well, he wants me to endorse a new brand of lemon drops." The other's expression turned cold. Harry beamed, continuing: "It's so he can get 50% off. Of course, I get half of-"

Tom's wand pressed abruptly against the hollow of his throat, and his own hand closed simultaneously around his own holly and phoenix feather. He swallowed slightly, his body taut with tension.

He hadn't had time to draw his wand out, sure, he could curse Tom, but in this close proximity he wouldn't be able to do so without the other's spell hitting him first - and Tom knew some nasty magic. His reflexes were quite good, if he said so himself, so unlike most people he would be able to get his own hit in even in this rather compromising position, if it came down to that. Unfortunately, he just wouldn't be able to do it without taking a blow himself.

"I'm not amused, Harry. So do try and curb that wit of yours before I curb it for you, hmm?" Tom suggested dangerously. Harry tilted his head to look up at the other, (and why did Tom have to be taller than him!) uncomfortably aware of the wood digging into his jugular.

"Ah, sorry. Did you expect me to be intimidated at that?" he asked after a moment. "It's just you're not very frightening, but I can try and make an effort? Cower in my boots a bit …I don't actually have any boots, well, I have my dragon hide boots from last years care of magical creatures, but I'm not wearing-"

Tom's hand shot up, yanking his Gryffindor tie hard, causing it to constrict, choking. He spluttered to a halt, wondering absently what he would look like with blue lips.

"Do shut up," Tom hissed.

"But I thought you wanted me to talk," he mocked, albeit a bit breathlessly. Come to think of it, he did feel rather dizzy. Tom's jaw tightened. "You know, you're being very moody," he remarked. Seemingly praying for patience, the other let the red and gold material loosen. "That didn't really work, did it?" he asked in a pityingly concerned manner.

"I could just legilimise you," Tom stated. Harry felt his heart speed up a bit in unease, blithe remarks of Tom's intimidation techniques aside.

He started to try and figure out how to draw his wand without attracting attention to the fact he was doing so.

"Sure, you _could_," he replied cheerfully, before hardening his tone. "But to be honest, none of this is actually any of your business!"

"You said you'd tell me."

"No, I said I might tell you -" he wasn't going to. Not about horcruxes. "But now, well, I don't much like being dragged around without my own consent. It's not very nice. Nor is digging your wand into my throat," he finished pointedly.

As if to spite him, Tom pressed the yew harder in response. Ow. Second guessing the next reply, he turned his head away from Tom's gaze. Eye contact was important for legilimency, it could be done without it, but it was a lot more difficult. He also snapped his eyes shut. There was a minute of utter, strained, tension as he waited for Tom to forcibly enter his mind. Cavalier attitude aside, his Occlumency was crap, so if Tom wanted the information so desperately he could just take it. And he'd have to, break time was soon over. Lessons would be starting again in five minutes.

At the sound of that familiar, yet at this time unexpected, laughter, his eyes almost shot open again in nerves. Why was Tom laughing? And with such an undertone of sadistic delight?

"You know, that laughter is creepy," he commented offhandedly.

Then, he realised the cause of it, and almost groaned. He'd been so focussed on the fact that Tom was driven by a relentless thirst for information and power (and how to prevent Tom from finding out about the horcruxes) that he'd forgotten the other elements: Tom's absolute, genuine love of toying with people, especially him. The Young Dark Lord loved anything that could challenge him for longer than half an hour…and he'd just inadvertently offered such a challenge.

Bloody fantastic.

He'd made sure that Tom's interest in his conversation was well and truly piqued, because he'd gone to such lengths to hide it. How was he supposed to have the brain space for these conversational intricacies when he already had horcruxes and everything else clogging up his mind? Maybe he could still reverse the interest?

Taking the chance that Tom might go for the challenging route (until he ran out of patience) rather than simply reading his mind, he cautiously opened his eyes again. Tom was studying him intently, wand still angled at his throat.

"You're not going to let up now, are you?" he asked, resignedly. Tom's eyes shot to his, curious. "Fine, I'll tell you. No doubt, you'll find out anyway, but do you mind withdrawing the wand first, it's rather uncomfortable."

Tom didn't move. Right. Of course not, he had too much of a habit of 'evading questions' or 'running away.'

"Well, can you at least take it away from my throat," he said. "It's difficult to talk when I can't take a full breath - and god, I'm probably going to have bruises so _thanks." _

Tom flicked the wand down to across his heart instead. Like that was so much better. It probably wasn't meant to be.

"If you lie…" Tom left the threat hanging.

He resisted the urge to wince. Oh yeah, he was going to be lying through his teeth when he started speaking. He was quiet for a minute, for effect.

"He was giving me the guilt trip about leaving the light, trying to get me to come back to his side," he started, bitterly. "You know, saying how much of a disappointment I was being to those who cared about me, how you were dangerous and not to be trusted," Harry rolled his eyes. "As if I'd want to go back to being the 'light side's little lamb,' as you put it." He glanced up to gauge the other's expression. "I didn't want to tell you because you, being you, would completely freak out and go on a headmaster murdering rampage."

Judging by the shadows on Tom's countenance, that was currently still a likely outcome.

"And well, even though Dumbledore's a dick, I don't want him _dead._ And really, you shouldn't be bothered anyway, because ultimately nothing happened and he didn't try anything, so unless you're jealous that I spent time with him instead of you," he gave a short laugh. "Which would be ridiculous, it's nothing. Past. Finito…and yeah. That's the bell. I have transfiguration."

He straightened against the desk, only for the wand to press further into his chest to indicate he should make himself comfortable again. As if he could be comfortable with the Slytherin heir pointing a wand at him. Shit.

"Err, Tom…I need to go to Transfiguration. I've already missed a lesson today."

"Then it won't make a difference if you miss another. You've already taken your OWLs anyway."

"Under a different name of someone who until recently was widely believed to be dead," he pointed out.

"Sit."

"For god's sake Tom, I have a lesson. I've already told you what happened, what more do you _want?"_

"Are you okay?" He blinked at the unanticipated question. Oh.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, feeling slightly off kilter.

"I can tell when people lie to me. You haven't stopped lying since we entered," Tom replied flatly. Warning bells shrieked in his head at the other's tone. He was sure Dumbledore would understand…

"Okay, so I might have lied about him not trying anything…he locked me in when I wouldn't initially listen to what he had to say." Tom's grip tightened on his wand, white knuckled. "But you should have seen your expression, you already looked like you were going to go on killing spree! I wasn't going to fuel that."

"He'd deserve it," Tom replied, appraising him. "I wish I could trust you, Harry," he said after a while.

"You can trust me…" he replied cautiously. Tom's mouth twisted into the cruel imitation of a smile.

"Then show me the memory of your meeting with Dumbledore." Crap. "No?" Tom enquired, when he didn't speak. "I thought not."

"Trust is a two way street," Harry replied quietly, readying his magic in anticipation.

"Well," Tom replied softly. "Here's to one day being able to trust each other. _Legilimens."_

"_Protego!"_

A/N: Reviews =O Thank you so so so much. I feel so loved. You guys are the best audience a fanfiction writer could ever have! And oh my god, I have over 700 reviews. Aaaah. I never thought anything of mine would actually be so popular! I much appreciate your support. As a token of my appreciation - have a super quick update. And an uncommonly long one. Ah, my writing's so erratic. Hope you enjoyed it - The Fictionist. 


	52. Chapter 51

Chapter 51:

He expected there to be an almost immediate wall up, with Tom's skill in Occlumency, that would send him slamming back into his own mind to face the music.

Instead, it was…odd. He was in Tom's mind, he knew that much, but there were no memories, no thoughts. He was vaguely aware of his body dropping to the floor, before he lost the connection as walls closed in on him. Oh god. Tom's occlumency really was phenomenal. He was applying it while Harry was already in his mind, hence forth trapping him there but not allowing him to see anything…and damn.

If his mind was in Tom's, surely that meant that the young Dark Lord could read all of his thoughts and memories as his own? He was like a new "Harry compartment" or something, opened and rifled through at will.

Abruptly, he tried to force his way back out of Tom's shields. That was odd too. He didn't have a body, so movement was…he called it movement but…minds were confusing. A moment later, he felt it, the strange and horrible sensation of someone picking leisurely through his thoughts.

How was Tom able to do that? This wasn't normal. Legilimency and Occlumency wasn't supposed to work like this…unless…was it because he was a horcrux? DAMN! Why did he think that? When he was practically broadcasting his thoughts? It was like someone telling you not to think about pink elephants. He just automatically couldn't help his thought process.

He felt Tom freeze in his perusal, and almost groaned. Oh yeah, the other was definitely hearing all of his thoughts. He made another frantic push; but he didn't know how to work his mind in mind arts. He couldn't control it, it was just a clumsy, ineffectual shoving motion. Tom batted it away like it was nothing, almost tearing through his mind now.

He hit upon the memory seconds later, the scene flashing across their eyes.

The next moment, Harry was back in his own body, blinking up at the ceiling.

Well, that didn't work.

He supposed Tom had guessed what he was going to do, and planned against it. His wand had clattered across the classroom floor from when his grip had gone slack, and now he lunged for it. Tom moved at the same time, putting his foot across the stick of wood just as his hand wrapped around the handle.

They both paused for a moment. Then Tom crouched down, though keeping his foot down across the holly, putting them on the same level. Harry felt his body tense.

"A horcrux?" Tom questioned, eyes dazzling with fervour and excitement. "You're one of my-our-my horcruxes? I mean, I had my suspicions but…"

"You had your suspicions?" he repeated dangerously. "You knew? Wow, that explains a lot!" he bit down on a wave of disgust that the topic brought.

Tom seemed to become aware of him as an active conscious person at his reply.

"I knew there was…something about you, you're a parselmouth…but I didn't even think until very recently that it could be because of…Salazar." Tom's head tilted suddenly, his gaze sharpening. "What do you mean 'that explains a lot?'" he demanded.

"Well, that's why you're here, isn't it? The horcrux- me being one - that's what this has all been about."

He probably shouldn't have felt so insulted. It wasn't like it could have logically been for any other reason. He tried to pull his wand free, but it didn't really work as he was too wary of accidentally damaging it.

"Harry, I just said I didn't know you were a horcrux, not until very recently did I have suspicions," Tom said, sounding annoyed. "And even if I did know, if the horcrux was all I was interested in, then why would I bother with all…this. I could have just faked your death and locked up you up in a padded compartment of my trunk so you couldn't damage yourself, and thus, the horcrux."

Harry's eyes widened slightly with horror. Tom smirked, faintly. There was a terse lull in the conversation. His throat felt dry.

A multitude of questions warred for asking space on his lips. Why would you even want to be immortal? How did you find out? What are you going to do now? Can't you see how wrong horcruxes are? The most pressing slipped out first.

"Can you get rid of it?"

"Excuse me?" Tom's jaw tightened. "Get rid of it? I'm not destroying my own soul."

"You already did, will, whatever," he spat. "You tore it apart."

"I don't expect you to understand," Tom snapped. "Either way, that matter is irrelevant. I'm not getting rid of it, why would I? And you're not either." The violent conviction in the Slytherin heir's tone sent shivers skittering up his spine.

"Or what, you'll kill me?" he asked, only half joking.

"Again, Harry, why would I destroy my own horcrux."  
There was an alarmingly reverent undertone to the other's voice. Tom was way too keen and delighted with this idea - him being a horcrux. It didn't bode well.

"I don't want it," he growled.

"I don't care," Tom replied darkly.

"Are you going to obliviate me then?" he asked coldly. Tom stared at him for a moment.

"No," he said finally.

"Yeah, it would be terrible to mess up my mind now that I'm a horcrux, wouldn't it?"

"**Harry," **The parseltongue held a soft, sibilant edge of warning. "Damn it!" Harry sucked in a deep, calming breath.

"Get off my wand," he ordered, through gritted teeth.

"You won't be needing it," Tom said. Harry almost flinched. It was like a twisted recall of his second year…Tom Riddle in the chamber. Horcrux Tom. Basilisk fang…

"I've got rid of them," Tom said. He glanced up to see the other watching him intently. "The basilisk fangs." If he didn't know the feeling of legilimency…

"It's really creepy when you do that," he stated irritably.

"You're easy to read," Tom replied dismissively, though his expression was hard. "I mean it, you're not getting rid of it. I won't let you."

"I'd like to see you stop me," he snarled. Tom arched his brows.

"Would you?" he questioned seriously. "Really?"

The silence seemed to stretch, a vast horizon of uncertainty.

"Why would you even want to be immortal?" he questioned instead.

"Why wouldn't I?" Tom replied.

"T-"

"I don't want to die," Tom continued, quietly now. Those piercing eyes cut up to meet his own. "What is there for me? Hell? Eternal damnation? I'll pass thanks." Harry opened his mouth to speak. "And the alternative? I can tell what you're going to say so don't tell me it might not be like that. As if the alternative is any better - blackness. An eternity of nothingness, possible conscious, but unable to do anything! It's hell anyway you look at it." His voice quietened again. "Not to mention, I've still got so much to do. One lifetime is too short."

Something in him ached at the young Dark Lord's words.

"You've thought this out," he muttered.

"I lived in London through the blitz. I had both time and motivation to think it out."

"But horcruxes?" incredulity coloured his tone. Horror and fear. "Splitting your soul? Not to mention, life isn't always so fine and dandy…and immortality? Imagine watching everyone you cared about dying over and over again while you remained the same…frozen in a changing world. That sounds like hell too."

"I'll take my chances," Tom stated, a sense of conclusion in his voice. He was closing up, ending the conversation and the topic. "Come on. Let's get you to your lessons, my dear horcrux."

"Don't call me that…Merlin, I think I preferred 'Golden Boy.'"

This was a nightmare.

A/N: Well, here you go. Hope you enjoyed. Are you wondering how the relationship is going to change with this new dynamic? I have so many scenes planned in my head *evil laugh.* Anyway, thank you for all the reviews. Much love. 


	53. Chapter 52

Chapter 52:

Hermione had shot him disapproving looks all through Transfiguration.

McGonagall had docked him twenty points for his lateness. He figured the only reason she hadn't given him a detention was because she felt sorry for him and his apparent expression of depression and desperation. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. He didn't want nor need pity. But, he supposed, he didn't want a detention either.

As such, he wasn't even the slightest bit surprised when she, and by default Ron (who looked torn between worry and sheepishness), dragged him aside the second the class finished. He was really getting sick of being dragged around by people wanting to talk to him.

They had Herbology next, so at least it would be quick…it was Hermione after all. Tom was very scholarly, just like Hermione, but not as compliant to rules and expectations. Ergo, Hermione would be in time for lessons regardless of her own curiosity towards Harry, whereas Tom would stick a wand at his chest and not let him leave for lessons until his own selfish interests were satisfied. He preferred Hermione's methods. Best get it over with; hopefully he could wrap this up in the time it took to walk to the greenhouses. He waited for her to start, impassively.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked. "What's going on, Harry?"

He wondered pensively if he should tell her, before realising with a start that he'd never thought about keeping secrets from his best friends before. Not really, not when they asked so openly. Sometimes, he worried he'd spent too long amongst the shadows and the snakes. When both Hermione's and Ron's faces fell, their features closing, he realised he'd been silent for too long.

"It's Riddle, isn't it," Ron said, disgustedly. It wasn't a question.

Harry suppressed a sigh, opening his mouth to say 'partially, but not solely.' Ron continued before he had the opportunity. "Can't you see what he's doing?" That made Harry's brows shoot up…he didn't see, but he would dearly have loved to. Was he missing something obvious? Ron's scowl deepened.

"No," he replied finally, "I don't see. But, by all means, point it out."

Hermione's lips pursed with exasperation. It must have been really obvious.

"He's dragging you away from us!" Ron said. Harry blinked once…twice. Oh. That was…anticlimactic and disappointing. He laughed, incredulously.

"That makes no sense! I'm with you now!" Harry said. Hermione was darting looks at Ron.

"And how much time before that? You spend more time with him and the snakes then you do with us," the red head accused. Harry had the feeling that this issue wasn't going to be resolved in the walk down to Herbology.

"And you agree with this?" he asked Hermione, a tad irritably. She bit her lip, nodding. Right. "But you seemed fine with it a couple of days ago!" he paused. "Or is it only when I missed a lesson that you decided it was an issue?" Colour flooded her cheeks. Harry instantly felt bad. "Hermione-" he began helplessly.

"Can't you see how much you've changed? I used to think that this was a good thing for you - you seemed happier - but now I'm not sure!" she snapped tightly. "You're obsessing Harry! Most the time you've recently spent with me is talking about him. You look utterly miserable and you're shutting out all of your _friends_…" she seemed to inhale a calming breath. "I don't understand what you seem in them, in him." Harry turned away, speeding up his pace.

"You wouldn't understand," he said.

"Then make us," she challenged. Harry's jaw clenched.

"I'm not, I'm," he started and stopped for what seemed like an infinite amount of time.

"Spit it out," Ron muttered.

"I'm trying to save him!" he regretted the words as quickly as he said them. Ron's features grew weary and Hermione's pitying.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione began. He narrowed his eyes.

She stopped, uncertain, eyeing him as if he were a stranger. All of a sudden, it felt like he was. He frantically tried to remember when they'd grown this distant. They used to be able to explain and talk through everything. She seemed to make an effort to compose herself and be logical.

"And what are his intentions?" she asked, swallowing visibly. "Because I don't think they're as honourable. He's a psychopath, Harry, how do you know he isn't just going to mimic the change he knows you want to see to pull you further into his webs? How do you know he's not just indulging you for now? Because," here she hesitated. "From where I'm standing, you've turned grey, but he hasn't changed from darkness. He's, he's changing you and, just sometimes, I'm not sure I like the new Harry very much."

Harry sighed, his anger draining out of him. How could he be angry when they only voiced fears that already spun round in his head? She seemed to notice, and continued.

"He's isolating you, cutting your ties to the light…if things go wrong, he's going to have an army and you're going to have no one."

"And what," he replied carefully, regarding them both, "would you have me do? I can't give up. I can't just sit by and watch as he becomes…he's not Voldemort. He's not."

Hermione swallowed again, biting her lip. Ron looked mulish, but concerned. They approached the Green House.

Today, they were working with Snarglepuffs. Professor Sprout was waving them cheerfully into the lesson, dirt smudging her sun creased features.

"Tell you what," Harry suggested. "You say I'm spending too much time with them, well, this coming weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend, isn't it?" He wasn't sure, he'd had a lot on his mind.

"Yeah," Ron said. "Though the keeper tryouts are on too."

"Then, after the tryouts, I'm spending the entire day, and the next, with you two. No talking about the war, or Tom, or anything like that. Okay?"

The sudden brighteness of Hermione's smile, and Ron's awkward but happy grin made the obvious repercussions of ignoring Tom for two days worth it.

The break would do him good anyway. He needed some distance to assess the situation..

_Horcruxes…_

_**FATE'S FAVOURITE***_

"Tom," he started, a couple of days later, the night before the Hogsmeade weekend.

The other looked up, arching a brow in question. As Harry had guessed, Tom had been smothering. Harry had barely had a minute to himself and it was getting tiring. Not to mention, if Tom was possessive and oddly protective before, he was a nightmare now.

He'd almost taken Abraxas' head off his shoulders when the Malfoy had accidently knocked into him in the heaving corridor, causing him to stumble slightly. "Do you think you're going to become _him_?" Now that he had begun to watch for it, he felt the smallest tinge of surprise that wasn't his own.

"Why the sudden question?" Tom questioned, eyes casting back to his book as if to dismiss the absurdity of his asking. Harry wasn't fooled. Tom's attention was still sharply on him, however casual he might appear.

"Curiosity," he replied flippantly. That gaze flicked up again for a moment.

"You've got your Keeper trials tomorrow, don't you? Are you coming to Hogsmeade after?"

"Yeah, but I'm spending the weekend with Ron and Hermione so I'm going with them, maybe the Quidditch Team too…I think Angelina wants to take us out for some 'team bonding' or something to see how we mesh," he replied.

Tom's fingers whitened on his book.

"On your own?"

"No," he said, smiling. "With my friends. But anyway, you didn't answer the question?"

"I don't think I will," Tom said, not even bothering to try and read now. "I learn from my mistakes"

"The remembrall suggests otherwise," he pressed, ruthlessly. "Isn't that your theory?" Tom's eyes darkened, and a throb ran through his left arm.

"And I distinctly recall that you were very keen to point out that it was only a theory," the Slytherin Heir replied.

"And I distinctly recall your scepticism, so I just wonder," he shrugged. Tom was silent, studying him intently.

"Those Gryffindors are a bad influence on you. They make you paranoid."

There was a rather ominous ring to his tone.

Things were only just beginning. This wasn't over.

A/N: Thank you for all the reviews and favourites. I am ecstatic you like the story so much. I'm not really happy with this chapter, so I apologise for the crappy quality. Next one, hopefully, will be back to my normal okayish standards =) 

Oh well, story is at about a half point soon…I think.


	54. Chapter 53

Just noted my review count, so the Review Challenge is back on! (Remember back to a few chapters ago?) But anyway, to sum up, my 800th reviewer gets to give me a challenge to write for DD (Destiny's Darling). Just not slash ;) Review Challenge comes up on every 100th review. :) But anyway...read on!

Chapter 53:

The next morning he was up early, for both Hogsmeade and the Gryffindor Keeper Trials. He had hoped to be out of the Dungeons before anyone else was awake, but that seemed to be too much to ask.

Tom's bed was empty; and Harry just knew he would be in the Common Room when Harry tried to sneak out. Well, not sneak out, he had no reason why he should be sneaking, but…He was right, either way. The Slytherin Heir looked up as he entered.

"You're up early," Tom noted. Harry shrugged, wondering if he should just ignore the other and keep walking. In the end, he did both, talking over his shoulder as he crossed the common room.

"Quidditch trials, Angelina wants the whole team to be there. Then I'm going to Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione, I already told you, remember?" he knew perfectly well that Tom remembered. Git.

The Slytherin heir rose, seemingly decide to walk to the Great Hall with him for breakfast. Harry suppressed a sigh - of course he wouldn't be allowed to do something as scandalous as walk across the school on his own. He might fall down the stairs or something equally ludicrous. He hated that Horcrux.

"No you're not," Tom said calmly. "I've been thinking about it, and I won't allow it."

Harry arched his brows.

"_You _won't _allow _it?" he questioned delicately, struggling to hold his fraying temper. "Interesting presumption."

"It's too dangerous," Tom said, glaring at him. "You always get into trouble when you're with those two. They practically encourage your stupid desire to risk your life."

"Because you're model company," he countered sarcastically.

"I'm a prefect," Tom replied. Harry snorted.

"Not in this time period. Ron and Hermione however..." Tom's expression told him exactly what he thought of that statement.

"I said no," he said firmly.

Harry tried, he really did, but a week of choking possessiveness was too much for him to take. He spun round, aura surging.

"Oh, but I'm dying for a bit of danger," he snarled. "Really. We were thinking to see how many bullets there would have to be in my head before I died. Fun times. That would destroy it -" the horcrux - "rather effectively wouldn't it?"

"You wouldn't dare," Tom hissed, taking a step up, features livid.

"Try me!" he snapped, wild with rage. "Or better yet, BACK OFF. You have absolutely no say in what I do in my free time or who I spend time with. Do you understand me? I'm not a pet, and I'm certainly not some little possession for you to bubble wrap - I'm a person! - _I said do you understand me?" _he demanded. Tom's head tilted back.

"Harry-" he began.

"No!" Harry growled. "Shut up. Not this time. A simple yes or no will suffice." Tom was silent for a moment.

"Yes," he said finally. "I understand you. But-"

"No buts," Harry said firmly. "Back off. I am spending this weekend with my friends, none of you or this war or any of that crap, okay?" Tom looked mutinous, hand fisted tightly around the handle of his wand.

"If you get into any trouble-" he started.

"-You'll hunt me down and kill me?" Harry offered sweetly. "Right now, that actually sound preferable. Nuhuh" he said, taking a step back and raising his wand as Tom's fingers moved to curse him. He pointed his wand, not at Tom, but at his own chest. Tom froze on the spot, eyes wide.

"You wouldn't really kill yourse-" he started.

"Wouldn't I?" Harry dared. "Do you truly care to call my bluff right now?" Tom surveyed him darkly. "Didn't think so," he said. "So turn around, walk, and go terrify your minions or whatever is you do when I'm not there for you to smother with your god-damn possessiveness."

Tom stared at him for a couple of seconds longer, features shadowed, before stowing his wand away. There was an odd expression on his face. Harry got a funny feeling in his stomach at the sight of it…it wasn't quite hurt, but…there was fury there too. And fear and…it wasn't hurt.

"You better come back in one piece, hero," Tom warned, dangerously, before turning around and stalking away without so much as a backwards glance. Harry waited until he rounded the corner, before letting his stance relax.

Yes, he definitely needed a weekend.

A half hour later he was on his broom, hovering above the Quidditch pitch. To his utter shock, it seemed as if Ron was trying out for the keeper position.

It made him feel terrible; shouldn't he have known if his best friend was trying out for the team? Before the day? He felt slightly better that Hermione hadn't known either. It appeared Ron had been worried they'd laugh, even though Harry thought it was a brilliant idea. At least it explained the mystery as to why Ron had been so tired, clearly he'd been out practising late at night. Harry only wished he'd known, then he could have offered to help.

His best friends were right, he was out of touch. It would have been easy to hate Tom for that, but he knew it was partially his own fault too. He hadn't made as much effort to reach out back to his old life as he should have done. He'd let it slip away, getting too caught up with everything going on. He did enjoy Tom's company, the other was great company when he wasn't being an ass, which is why it had been so easy. He'd gone a year without Ron and Hermione, with Tom and the Slytherins being his main source of companionship, he couldn't have possibly expected adjusting to be easy. He shouldn't have given up so quickly, or closed off…hindsight was a double edged sword.

He leaned forward eagerly as it became Ron's turn to play. The red head was good. He wasn't exceptional, but he was good. He definitely had a decent chance. Harry only hoped he got the position. It would be awesome. He crossed his fingers in his pocket.

Yes!

Ron had got the keeper position. They headed towards Hogsmeade to celebrate. His mood felt lighter already.

A/N: Aaah, I'm sorry. That was…*shudder.* I don't think I'm very good at writing Ron and Hermione, sadly. I shall endeavour to improve, and next chapter shouldn't have Tom butting in and taking all my thoughts. He's such an attention hog. He doesn't like the other characters getting a turn…and wow, I sound crazy. Anyway, thanks for the reviews and I hope you managed to enjoy the update. Next stop - Hogsmeade. 

At least it was a quick update, ja?


	55. Chapter 54

Chapter 54:

Hogsmeade had hardly changed in the fifty years since he'd last been there…and that statement sounded odd, even in the relative privacy of his own thoughts.

Honeydukes was booming as ever, the three broomsticks had an extra broomstick…there were, naturally, differences. Zonkoes had grown even more popular, with great changes in the quality of its stock, and the Shrieking Shack was new. Well, the shack wasn't new. The Shrieking part was, kind of. He smiled just slightly.

Remus and Sirius had been regaling him with stories of their, and consequently his parents, time at Hogwarts through letter for many weeks now.

It was nice spending time with Ron and Hermione again, relaxing. While he might have enjoyed Tom's company (okay, so there was no 'might have' about it, if he wanted to be brutally honest, and he didn't particularly want to be,) it would be a far cry to say that Tom's presence was relaxing. It was more an intense series of events, even when they were both at rest, full of challenge and danger.

It sounded worse when he put it like that.

He was thinking about Tom again. He was supposed to be avoiding that topic and that infuriating prat for two days, not thinking about him! Moving on. It was the pink elephants all over again.

Hogsmeade was busy and bustling when they got there, the Quidditch team surging in one collective movement to pull them in the direction of the Three Broomsticks for a celebratory butterbeer.

Ron was as red as his hair with Fred and George's teasing, though if Harry pinpointed his best friend's emotions correctly - and he'd got a lot better at that since spending time with T…_him_ - there was also a faint tweak of pride interwoven with the indignant frustration in the other's voice as he threatened to jinx his twin brothers. Hermione was tutting and shaking her head, albeit unable to hide her fondness and growing smile.

Life was good, and his anger was draining away from the confrontation he'd had earlier that morning as a result. That topic wasn't good, or simple, not like having a butterbeer with friends.

Try as he might, he couldn't help but revisit that conversation in his mind. Tom hadn't looked hurt, but…if Tom ever strayed near such an emotion, the look on his face after that conversation would have epitomised it exactly. He was going to have one hell of a situation waiting him when they next got back - presuming Tom would talk to him. When Tom had told him to back off, he'd gone and ignored the other snapping point. It wasn't unreasonable that Tom would have the same reaction.

Oh well, the idea of the break was to sort everything out in his head again…so he supposed he was allowed to think on it. A little bit.

He broke out of his thoughts at the sound of Fred and George letting off a small celebratory batch of fireworks - homemade? - much to Madame Rosmerta's ire, before the Weasley twins were shooed out to general laughter, making "I heart you" symbols to their little brother, grinning wickedly, calling out some Quidditch related jokes. It was pandemonium.

He'd missed it terribly.

After the three broomsticks, he, Ron and Hermione split up from the rest of the Quidditch Team to go wandering.

Freed from the rowdy, protective bubble of his Gryffindor friends, Harry grew aware of the looks being directed his way, the hostility. His mind supplied the reason for this immediately - the Prophet article. They probably all thought he was a Death Eater, a new Dark Lord. Idiots. Fools.

Tom and the Slytherins entered the Three Broomsticks as they left, but aside from Zevi's intensely questioning look between him and the young Dark Lord, there was no communication. As predicted, Tom completely blanked him. Immature bastard. He was just doing it to be deliberately annoying…no, that wasn't a hypocritical comment.

They went to browse around Zonkos, much to Hermione's resigned distaste, before placating her with a trip to the bookstore. It was there that Harry had the idea. Auras and Power Levels. He found another, darker looking, book on the subject near the back of the shop, crammed between a book on Warding and one on Magical Manipulation. He found the closeness of the latter rather ominous in its suggestion…even if it didn't actually turn out to have anything to do with Auras and Power levels.

So, he skimmed through it while Hermione browsed the shelves like Ron would in Honeydukes - Ron himself was flicking through a copy of a Chudley Cannons biography, looking only just above the level of 'bored out your mind.'

Knowing Hermione might take a while, he glanced around sheepishly every few minutes, but read on.

Apparently, auras and power levels were very significant for subjects like Arithmancy, and eventually, the inventing of spells itself. He presumed that was why it, a potentially dark book, was here when everyone was panicking about being labelled a Dark Wizard.

Also - oh, he thought he had the answer - regarding a persons individual power level - you could only use controlling magic on someone whose power level was less than yours, if you wanted a strong chance of success.

_If the recipient of the magic in question has an equal or greater power level than that of the caster than it becomes difficult to cast the magic successfully without permission, as the greater force would either overwhelm the smaller or two equal forces would just lock eternally until the spell was withdrawn, or conceded to. This can vary within the different of auras of a person (see Auras and Power levels, volume 1) _- that was the one he had read! _- as dominance and power level can vary regarding aptitude for different types of magic_.

Harry stopped reading.

So what did that mean? he was on the same power level as Tom? Impossible. He didn't invent spells and wards like Tom did and Tom was just…well, Tom. And yet…if it were true, why was Tom pointing him to this knowledge? Was it acknowledgement, and if it was acknowledgment, was it only because Tom was now being forced to acknowledge it due to needing his permission? Probably. Tom didn't tend to acknowledge things he didn't like unless it was necessary.

He stuffed the book back into the shelf, wondering if the thought of this was going to go to his head in a fit of hubris. Hopefully not.

He walked back towards the front of the shop, trying to look nonchalant.

"Finally," Ron mumbled. "I thought you were going to turn into Hermione…not that there's anything wrong with Hermione," the red head added, glancing nervously at his other best friend, where she was reading the blurb of some massive tome. Thankfully, Hermione seemed to absorbed to have heard the comment.

Ron relaxed again, causing Harry's lips to twitch slightly in amusement.

"Hermione," Ron called, louder this time, causing the bookworm to look up at them. "Are you ready to go? We've been in here for AGES."

"It's been ten minutes Ronald," Hermione huffed, but she put the book back Harry saw Ron crane his next slightly to see what the title was, and raised his eyebrows. Ron caught his expression and flushed.

"Christmas present ideas," he muttered. Harry smirked.

They headed out the shop towards Honeydukes; they were going to buy a picnic to take to the outer skirts of the village, overlooking the shrieking shack. None of them were frightened of it anymore, after third year.

They had just come out, arms laden with bags of goodies, including his favourite mini packets of treacle tart, when the world exploded.

Hogsmeade was under attack.

Had he ever mentioned that Fate hated him?

A/N: Didn't you just guess that was going to happen? And guess who's going to be introduced soon? Anyway, I hope you managed to like this chapter, despite my less than great writing skills regarding Ron and Hermione =/ Thank you for all the reviews, and alerts, and favourites and everything. The popularity of this fic never ceases to amaze me. Much appreciation…bye. Next chapter should be up relatively soon (not making any promises) because it won't be so much like pulling teeth (Ron and Hermione, I love you! I just can't write you!) and this chapter shames me so much. Ramble done. Bye (for real this time.) 


	56. Chapter 55

Chapter 55:

Harry's first thought was that Tom was going to flip.

His second thought was incredulous horror as to why on earth Tom's reaction would be the first thing to pop into his head.

The third thought, and by far the most productive and sensible, was to cast a shield charm.

He did so, scrambling to find a more advantageous position for defence and offence. His head whipped around for Ron and Hermione. They were fine, dazed, but thankfully coherent enough to have drawn their own wands.

Before them lay carnage.

Dozens of Death Eaters had swarmed on the small village like a black tide, engulfing the population and leaving a wake of destruction in their movement. The air was thick with screams and panic, fires blazing from explosions created in the sudden, surprise attack.

He was immediately, painfully, aware of the fact that most the people running around, either battling or just trying to escape, were students. Inexperienced students who didn't know how to fight. He swore under his breath, taking advantage of the fact no one had noticed _who _he was (he didn't like to think it was arrogance to assume they would most likely all flood to attack him) to pull his best friends close, thinking furiously.

"The secret passage from Honeydukes cellar, get as many students out through there as possible - now, quickly! - and try and alert the staff. Go!" he ordered, before spinning to leap into the fray and engage the nearest white mask in battle.

He didn't wait for the Death Eaters to notice or face him, he attacked from behind and moved on, duelling if he was attacked or face to face with his enemy; twirling through the sickening cacophony of colour and bloodshed. He vaguely registered Hermione scream his name, and Ron shout something like "don't you bloody dare!" but he was gone, swept away amongst the battle. He only hoped they did as he asked.

He slashed his way through, helping other students where he could and pointing them to the Hogsmeade passage. He knew it was only a matter of time before the Death Eaters noticed that escape route and took action; he only hoped there were enough people to keep fighting to defend it and keep it open. When he could, he directed students to help with that.

Every loss of life was like a bitter stab wound to his heart.

Then Tom arrived.

It was clear the other had been looking for him in. And was irate.

"**What the f*** are you doing?" **the Slytherin Heir hissed, banishing an approaching Death Eater with an almost dismissive flish of his wand.

"Fighting," Harry replied, through gritted teeth, swishing around to take out another Death Eater. He felt Tom slip almost automatically into a back to back position with him.

"Clearly**,**" Tom spat. **"**Good for you, hero, have you satisfied your quota for the day?" several attackers went down with a sickening crunch; Harry could only guess that Tom's last spell had been lethally gruesome. The Death Eaters obviously didn't realise who the boy they were duelling with really was.

"Not yet," Harry replied, his tone casual. A few Death Eaters fell, one hitting each other like dominoes under his wand. "But feel free to go ahe-"

"**Well, tough. We're leaving." **The Parseltongue danced off Tom's tongue, menacing.

"But," he emphasised, grunting slightly as a particularly violent curse slipped his shields to graze past his stomach as he dodged it. "feel free to go ahead."

Tom seemed to lose patience, and every Death Eater around them, and non Death Eater fighter for that matter, around them were blasted back in a massive bullet of energy, unconscious. He raised his brows.

"You have _got_ to teach me that spe-" Tom seized his arm, yanking him roughly round so that they were no longer back to back.

"We're leaving," Tom repeated, dangerously. "Comply or it won't be your enemies or strangers who I curse next."

"You won't curse me," Harry snorted, taking out another white mask who dared breach the growing wide circle around them both. He was a horcrux. Tom had freaked earlier when he pointed a wand at himself.

The young Dark Lord smiled, cruelly.

"I was referring to the mudblood and the blood traitor."

Harry froze on the spot, unbelieving of what he just heard. His heart stopped as he glanced up at the other, gauging his seriousness. The seriousness was all the way up at level ten; deadly.

"Played your cards rather early in the game, my dear," Tom continued, the smile sharpening to a disarming smirk, before vanishing entirely. Without another word, Tom turned, knowing he would follow, cutting his way through the battlefield, death eater of civillian alike, with a fatal grace.

Swearing under his breath, glaring daggers, smart retorts and alternative options of choice temporarily short-circuited in his head at the threat, he followed - taking the opportunity to continue helping as many people as they weaved through the crowd once more.

Shame at leaving burned his guts like acid, horror drowned his mind, fear prickled his spine and rage ruled with a fist of fire from his heart. That was a low blow. Even for Tom. The other was desperate to get him - the bloody horcrux - out of line of fire.

"You're a bastard," he spat.

"You're pathetic," Tom responded calmly. The crowd was thinning out, with the dead, the unconscious or the escaped clearing the Hogsmeade. The short battle was drawing to a close, victory or failure as of yet unclear for either side to see.

It leaned towards failure.

Many Death Eaters were out of action, but the Death Eaters had greatly outnumbered them in the first place. Harry dreaded the force of Voldemort's army when they were in full power.

"No, really." Tom continued, a hint of venom in his voice. "Your desire for heroics is truly sickening in its weakness."

"As is your desire for controlling everyone around you - like, uh, me for example. Psychologists could argue that your overcompensating for-"

"Are you really going to start this now?" Tom questioned, acidly, as they battled their way through. They'd both sustained a few injuries, but nothing life threatening. "You're a hypocrite, did you know that Evans?" Harry flashed a mocking grin.

"Coming from you?" he returned insinuatingly. Tom shot him a foul look, flicking out another Death Eater. They were nearing the edge of the battlefield now.

"I make no pretences on what I am," Tom replied haughtily. "But _you." _For the first time since they'd started the 'conversation,' Harry heard a tinge of true, unadulterated fury in the other's tone. _"You are a hypocrite. _I'm trying, here. You tell me to care, and when I do, you shove it back into my face and tell me to back off, you _ungrateful brat_. You always whine about how I'm trying to change you but ,obviously, when you tell me to change my psychopathic _nature _it's all A-Okay -"

"-It's not like that," Harry snarled. "Do you have any idea -

"-Trouble in paradise?" a voice questioned mockingly.

Pain exploded in his scar.

A/N: I hope this chapter is better. I know it's up quick, but I was so ashamed of the last update that I had to. Sorry. Hope you enjoyed this one more. Adios - The Fictionist. 


	57. Chapter 56

**Parseltongue**

Chapter 56:

Harry froze, his blood turning to crushed ice in his veins.

He whipped around, raising his wand to face the speaker. Voldemort.

He looked exactly the same. Evil, scarlet eyes, mere slits like his nose, lipless mouth and the aura…that unmistakable, black, murderous aura that made you certain that you were seconds away from death. His breath caught in his throat.

He had part of this monster's soul. He felt sick.

A quick flick of his gaze noted that a few dozen new Death Eaters had apparated into a loose circle around both him and Tom. The gaunt, haunted, insane tint to their countenances suggested that they were fresh out of Azkaban. Shit. He should have been aware of an Azkaban breakout…but the connection was blocked by the mental wall, so he wasn't. Was learning Occlumency really that good an idea? He'd take torture over deadly obliviousness.

"Salazar…" he heard Tom murmur, before the other's voice sharpened. "How are you here? The para-"

"Tom," came the silky greeting.. Harry realised with a jolt that this was the first time that Tom and Voldemort would be meeting face to face, and they were certainly assessing each other with a rapt fascination.

There had been that incident with possession, unrepeated due to the clear presence of the paradox…the paradox. How could Voldemort be here with the paradox?

"How are you here?" Tom repeated, fiercely, sounding more than a tad annoyed. "You do realise you're interrupting my conversations. Again. It's very rude." Voldemort's eyes flashed at the tone.

"**The paradox only works with identical, twin souls," **the Dark Lord explained, icily. "**It appears ours no longer are." **No longer-? Tom was moving away from the Voldemort path? God, he hoped so.

"And you're here to correct that, I presume?" Tom returned, casually.

"Indirectly, perhaps," Voldemort said, with a mirthless smile.

The next second Harry found that oh so familiar wand levelled in the direction of his heart. He tightened his own grip on his holly wand in response. His throat felt dry. "Avada-"

Harry prepared to intercept the curse and force the prior incantatum in his defence, but Voldemort's spell had already come to an abrupt, slicing stop when Tom stepped forward, in front of him, raising his eyebrows in challenge. The Death Eaters around them shifted, but didn't move, held at bay by their master's lack of orders. Voldemort studied his younger counterpart silently for a moment.

"Stand aside," he ordered. Tom's head tilted, curiously.

"Do you really believe that I'm going to comply with that?" he asked, mockingly. "Or do you just love the sound of your own voice?" Tom paused, looking thoughtful. "Never mind, don't answer that one, gramps."

A Death Eater with thick black curls hissed, muttering something Harry couldn't quite hear.

Voldemort took a step forward, nearly pressing the wand up against Tom's chest, but not quite touching…Harry assumed that paradox wasn't weakened enough to allow actual contact…did that include magic? Tom's hand shot out behind him, seizing hold of Harry's own in a bruise-inducing grip, tugging Harry behind him further, simultaneously using his hold to twist him around to face the Death Eaters instead of Voldemort.

It was like some twisted version of their normal duelling stance, used in the rare occasions that he duelled with Tom rather than against him. He wondered if Voldemort knew that, or if he had…forgotten. Okay. No. He was NOT going to go down that thinking route. Tom's theory was bullshit anyway. He didn't become Voldemort. Harry refused to let the story end that way.

"Stand aside," Voldemort repeated dangerously.

"Or what, you'll kill me?" Tom smirked, defiance imbued with arrogance.

"The cruciatus curse may be more suitable," Voldemort replied coolly.

Harry felt a thrill of fear, separate to his own panic, and realised it had to be Tom's. Without thinking, he used Tom's grip on his arm to spin them around so he was facing Voldemort again, and Tom was facing the Death Eaters. Voldemort grinned, horribly.

"Atta boy, Harry," he hissed, tracing the yew wand over Harry's heart.

Harry pressed his own wand back. Even if he couldn't kill Voldemort, he could splatter him into a million pieces so he could wander around as spirit again.

But he was going to die…and in pain, because Harry was pretty sure a small bone shattered in his hand (not his wand hand, mercifully) as Tom attempted to reverse their positions once more, but held his ground.

A second later, the furious pressure vanished, but he didn't let go, hoping to keep Tom in place. An electric shock ran up his left arm instead, an intense burn on his forearm that automatically caused his own grip to loosen with pain. Tom yanked his arm free, turning to face Voldemort.

Now they both had their backs to the Death Eaters, but Harry figured Voldemort was by far the greater threat. Besides, if Voldemort was _anything _like Tom, then he probably wouldn't allow the Death Eaters to kill either of them. He hadn't in the Graveyard. He wanted to kill Harry himself, though this was definitely the first time Harry found that to work in his advantage.

It was the first time in a long time that he was looking for the similarities, not the differences.

"You don't want to kill him," Tom said, quickly. Harry's eyes widened at realisation of what Tom was going to do. He was going to bring up the horcruxes.

"Shut up," he hissed, warningly, nausea bubbling his stomach.

"And why is that?" Voldemort questioned, in a bored tone of voice, sounding like he was losing patience.

"He's-" Harry pointed his wand at Tom instead.

_"Silencio_." Tom's words went on mute at the spell. Harry felt distantly aware that if they got out of this alive, Tom was going to _murder _him.

"Someone who rebounds killing curses…quick to forget that, aren't you?" Harry finished, tauntingly, flicking his wand back to Voldemort. "I suppose the truth hurts."

As predicted, the Dark Lord's aura flared with rage, and his scar flared up with agony. It took all of Harry's effort to remain standing and not pass out. Or throw up. While throwing up over Voldemort had some entertainment value, life had more.

"Forget murder," Voldemort said softly. "You'll commit suicide and beg for death by the time I'm through with you, _golden boy._" A shiver ran up his spine. He was too close. He couldn't dodge.

"_Crucio."_

"_Confrigo!"_

Nothing like déjà vu fifty years later.

A/N: Well, um, hope this was somewhat satisfactory, I realise you guys probably had high hopes of what you wanted to happen and see with this meeting. Um, yeah. Thank you for all the reviews, please keep them coming because I read them whenever I'm feeling insecure about my writing, and they always cheer me and keep me going and trying with my scribbles. Much appreciation. Adios. 

ps: I know i'm probably killing all interest with my super fast, impatient updates, so i apologise for the lack of suspense.


	58. Chapter 57

Chapter 57:

Harry blinked, slowly, squeezing his eyes shut against the harsh, blinding white light. Was he dead? He blinked again, a small groan slipping from his mouth. No, he was in the Hospital Wing. Bloody hell.

"Harry!" Hermione was immediately at his side, Ron on the other, looking terrified. "Madame Pomfrey - he's awake!"

The Medi-witch came bustling in from the other room, relief stark upon her face, as she hurried to flash lights in his eyes and perform all sorts of other spells. He recognised only a few of them, like the one for blood pressure. He tried to ignore it.

"What happened?" he murmured instead, his fingers flinching to touch the bandages wrapped around his chest, winding around his head, before Pomfrey slapped his hands away. There was cold, gooey stuff. Last time he'd used that spell against the cruciatus he'd ended up in a coma for two weeks.

"You were in a coma," Ron said weakly.

"How long?" he asked curiously, before his eyes widened. "Crap - the quidditch match, did I miss it? And I meant what happened to get me here."

"You're thinking about Quidditch!" Hermione demanded furiously. Ron looked shifty.

"We lost, didn't we?" Harry asked glumly. He didn't need an reply for the answer to that one. "How badly?"

"200 to 50," Ron muttered. Harry swore.

"Your vitals seem okay, Mr Potter," Madame Pomfrey spoke up in the silence, disapproving, presumably at his cussing. "But I'm going to keep you in for observation for a couple of days."

Harry groaned, loudly. Pomfrey rolled her eyes, used to it.

"So…what happened?" he asked again, eyeing Pomfrey warily as she circled the ward.

"Riddle, surprisingly," Ron spat. Harry arched his eyebrows.

"Why surprisingly?" he asked, albeit a tad uncomfortable. Tom had saved him?

"Because he hasn't even checked in on you in the three weeks you've been here," Hermione hissed, seemingly outraged at this fact. Harry suppressed the smallest twinge of hurt.

"Yeah, well," he shrugged. "He's probably pissed off that Voldemort beat his record." Ron and Hermione blanched.

"When did he put you in a co-"

"- Oh, I'm pissed off, but it's not about that," a voice said dangerously. Harry's head whipped around, which he immediately cursed when a sharp pain shot through his temples like a bolt of electricity. Of course Tom would be aware the second he woke up.

"What are you doing here?" Ron demanded.

Tom ignored them, the Slytherin's at his heel, striding over to his bed and picking up the clipboard at the end, gaze scanning across the information. Harry watched him cautiously.

"How is he?" Tom asked Pomfrey, over his shoulder, eyes flicking up to fix on Harry's form. He resisted the urge to fidget.

"Sitting…lying…right here," he offered pointedly.

"His vitals are fine," Pomfrey said. "He should make a full recovery, there is remarkably little damage."

"You mean you actually care?" Hermione muttered, still looking peeved.

"No," Tom said dryly. "I'm here for the view. Potter looks smoking hot in those shapeless hospital gowns. Now, get out." Hermione's mouth dropped open.

"You can't tell us to get out!" Ron snarled.

"Harry, tell them to get out," Tom smiled, coldly. Harry's mind flashed back to the last conversation they had. _You won't curse me. I was referring to the mudblood and the blood traitor. _

"I'll see you guys later," he said finally, narrowing his eyes.

"What - Harry?" Hermione demanded.

"Please," he beseeched, glancing at them both.

Hermione frowned, studying Tom for a moment. Harry held his breath. They left. Tom raised a hand to dismiss the Slytherins too.

"You've seen he's going to live, so go away."

The Slytherins left, Alphard patting his shoulder, Cygnus looking disappointed, Abraxas stoic in the true Malfoy fashion, and Zevi sending him a concerned grimace. He looked around to see that Pomfrey had also left for her office.

Tom swept around the bed, taking the seat that Ron had just vacated. Then he stared. Harry coughed.

"Er…rumour has it that I have you to thank for still being alive? What, um, happened exactly? No one will tell me the specifics."

"Your heart stopped," Tom stated flatly. Harry winced, just slightly.

"I was actually referring to the whole Voldemort and a gazillion Death Eaters situation."

"Completely flatlined," Tom continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "You were technically dead for about thirty seconds."

"How does a crucio do that?" he asked, trying to probe for information. Tom folded his arms.

"The same way it does when you last tried that spell combination," he replied tightly. "It backfires, pushed back against the power of an unforgivable." Of course, Power Levels, the most power always won, and if he and Voldemort were on equal levels (unlikely) then it would be the power of the individual spell that dictated which one won out, and an unforgivable beat a fifth year blasting curse.

"And Voldemort?" he questioned tentatively.

"Disappeared to nurse his wounds after I sent a soul shredding curse and several other painful curses in his direction," Tom said icily. Harry was reluctantly impressed. "His Death Eaters went with him, and I took you up to the castle…this was about the time I had to _**restart your heart. **_Luckily for you, the silencing charm had worn off when you collapsed on me, so I could actually get you some help."

Tom wasn't glaring, that was an extremely bad sign. He'd gone past his normal rage to something else. Harry's stomach squeezed a little.

"Thanks," he said. After a moment, he tried to lighten the atmosphere, offering a placating: "**At least the horcrux is okay." **

It seemed to have the opposite effect of calming Tom down, because the next second the room seemed suffocating as Tom's magic came out, clawed and overwhelming. He saw Madame Pomfrey look up sharply from her papers, assessing the situation, before going back to whatever she was doing.

"No thanks to you," Tom said harshly. "What were you _thinking _putting yourself in front of me. He wasn't going to kill _me_ you _idiotic_ boy."

Harry was silent, knowing Tom wouldn't be pleased with his thought process. He knew what Tom was thinking, he thought Harry had jumped in front of him in hopes of ending the horcrux if he died, but while that would have been a good idea, he hadn't truly being thinking outside of alleviating the fear he could feel coming from the young Dark Lord.

"Yes, well, I told you I wanted to get rid of it," he said. Tom's jaw tightened.

"If you hadn't just woken up from a coma, I would hit you," he said, sounding extremely restrained. Harry didn't for one moment doubt the truth of Tom's words.

"Oh, but you wouldn't want to damage it," he spat. "That would be counterproductive."

Okay, so maybe he wasn't as calm and unaffected by the fact that Tom hadn't even checked up on him as he thought…Tom regarded him carefully.

"You still think the only reason I'm here is because of it, don't you?" the other said quietly. Harry looked away.

"Can Ron and Hermione come back in now?"

"Salazar, I take it back," Tom said, disgustedly. "You are stupid." The next second, a hand fisted into his hair painfully, pulling his head back round to face the, now definitely glaring, features of the Slytherin heir. "**I'm saying this **_**one**_** more time. I started this not knowing you were a horcrux. Does that compute in your tiny brain?" **Tom questioned scathingly. "**You can just blink twice for yes if words are also too difficult to you."**

"Yes," Harry growled.

"Okay," Tom said softly, mockingly. "Well done. Now, if I didn't know, and came here anyway, what does that say to you?"

"That you're an obsessive bastard?" he offered, feeling irritated. He hurt all over from waking up from a week coma, he wasn't up for Tom's mind games. The grip tightened momentarily. Wrong answer.

"**My concern is not with the horcrux, at least not solely."** Tom let go, standing up, angrily, making his way to the door. Harry stared as Tom disappeared from sight, before looking with annoyance at all the equipment measuring his vitals and decisively yanking them off, causing a loud beep. Pomfrey rushed in.

"Mr Potter," she shrieked. "What on earth do you think you're doing? Get back into bed right now."

Tom's head appeared around the door again, apparently he'd heard the loud beep that seemed to signify his heart flat lining. It was because he wasn't attached, so the heart thingy had nothing to measure. His friends also hurried to see what was happening.

"Harry!"

"Get back into bed," Tom ordered.

"I don't understand," he said, looking at Tom alone. "Why would you-?" Tom threw his hands up in a gesture of impatience, glancing at the other occupants in the room.

"Someone explain to Potter that his life has importance of its own merit," he instructed. Ron and Hermione stared at him aghast, before both starting to talk at once, but he was still focussed on Tom, who was striding out again.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, hobbling to catch up, with Pomfrey chasing after him, trying to drag him back onto the bed. Tom turned, taking hold of his arms to stop him from moving, or falling over…he did feel a little dizzy and shaky on his feet.

"To murder your relatives, or Dumbledore. Whichever one I happen to run into first," Tom replied, apparently with perfect seriousness.

Harry paled, wrapping his hands around Tom's arms in turn, to stop him from leaving. Tom raised his brows, seeming to know the question 'why' was already about to leave his lips.

"Harry, I'm a psychopath, and your emotional understanding is worse than mine. Ergo…"

"My emotional understanding is fine," he snapped, uneasily. He just knew Tom's mind was leaping straight to abuse, but he wasn't…sure, the Dursley's didn't like him, but they didn't abuse him. Tom laughed.

"Fine…" he murmured, his expression appraising. "Okay, you can blink two times for yes, and three times for no." Harry scowled. "Very briefly and generally, the definition of a Psychopath is characterised by a general lack of remorse for one's actions and low empathy, someone who puts themselves above all others, charming, with a tendency towards manipulation, yes?"

"Yes."

"**Right, and what part of that definition suggests that other people can never rank on my scale, secondary to myself of course."**

"None," Harry admitted, noting the temporary switch to parseltongue. Was this Tom trying to say that, in his own probably convoluted way, he cared about _Harry_?

"And do you think I'm a masochist?" Tom asked. "Masochist being someone who enjoys causing themselves pain, example of case - Harry Potter." Harry sneered, but answered anyway.

"No, you're actually more a Sadist. Sadist being someone who enjoys causing other people pain."

"Very good," Tom praised, still mocking. "So, if I'm not masochistic, and have an extremely high self preservation…what on earth makes you think Voldemort would ever have attacked me in any way?" Harry paused, tilting his head. "Hence, that empty threat was directed at _you, _and you, ever the hero, played right into it…which leads one to wonder how your hero complex could be so utterly twisted that you hadn't picked up on it being an empty threat, despite spending over a year around _me_. Therefore, one could assume that you have an extremely high amount of self-hatred and an extremely low amount of self-worth. A characteristic of emotional abuse. Ergo…" Tom finished his explanation, smiling mirthlessly. "I'm going to murder your relatives, or Dumbledore, whichever one I run into first. Get back into bed before you collapse again."

Tom disentangled himself from Harry's grip, shoving him back lightly into Madame Pomfrey's clutches. He walked away again. Harry could feel himself beginning to panic.

"**It wasn't because of the horcrux, so you can't take the self-hatred from that," **he called, ignoring Ron and Hermione's flinch as he switched to snake language. "**You were scared. I could feel it, so don't give that bullshit, you thought he was going to crucio you…probably because the lack of paradox would imply you were not the same person, meaning that the self preservation wouldn't apply. Example, when you threw pain curses and a soul shredding curse at Voldemort."**

Tom turned, just slightly, to face him again.

"I'm not stupid," Harry stated flatly. The Slytherin's were all flicking their eyes between them.

"No," Tom agreed. "But you were about to die, regardless, and he wouldn't have killed me. So actually, it was the masochism that didn't apply. Get some rest."

"Don't kill anyone," he said. "And I will."

"Don't push your luck. You threw a silencing charm at me."

"And you still saved my life," he said, not quite confident enough to add a teasing remark to that.

"Well, you can't torture the dead…watch yourself when you're fully fixed," Tom smirked, though there was a level of painful promise in his gaze.

"**I won't forgive you if you kill them. There's been enough death for a while,"** Harry replied. "So unless you want me to start duelling straight out of a coma.

Tom rolled his eyes.

"Hero complex," was all he said. But he inclined his head fractionally.** "**I'm going now. The fluffliness of you being lectured about self worth is too much. I may vomit. Enjoy."

A/N: Extra long chapter just for you, hope you liked it. Thank you so much for all the reviews. I hope this was satisfactory. PS: I'm not a psychologist, my knowledge of psychopaths comes from google. 

Just out of interest, what have your guys favourite bit been in the story, so far? 


	59. Chapter 58

Chapter 58:

Harry was finally released from the hospital wing several days later, after he had been near smothered to death by Madame Pomfrey. And Ron and Hermione for that matter.

They seemed to have taken Tom's instructions that he should be lectured to heart - his best friends now took every opportunity to drill his own worth into his skull.

While this was somewhat nice and reassuring to hear, it was starting to get just a tiny bit annoying. He had heard their arguments the first time, repeating them didn't make them any more convincing. Sure, he understood that they would be upset - not upset, _distraught_, apparently - if he died, but Harry didn't see how that was actually going to change anything in his attitude. Okay, so they cared about his life because they were his friends and they cared about him, but…that didn't change the fact that he would still happily take a killing curse for them. It wasn't nobility, or a lack of self-worth, it was purely selfish because he wasn't sure he could cope with someone else he loved dying on him.

They just didn't understand that. He was bloody terrified of losing them. His life wasn't worthless, but it was worth less than theirs, to him at least. They weren't happy with that, and Harry couldn't help but feel annoyed that they didn't get it.

Tom hadn't visited him apart from that one time, but Zevi had theorised that it was more because Tom didn't see the point, or how visitation was necessary if it had no effect on his recovery, rather than a lack of interest. He would rather do something useful. Harry was reluctant to admit the theory made sense, if your mind worked in such a distorted way as the young Dark Lord's. He also didn't blame anyone for trying to avoid the white prison.

Either way, now that he was out, he had a couple of questions to ask Tom, which had been bugging him as he lay awake at night (the visions were slowly returning, Harry presumed it was something to do with the paradox, though he wasn't sure what, and that wasn't the point anyway.) He was curious to have the conversation anyway.

He needed to know why Tom hadn't told Voldemort about the horcruxes, as he'd said that the silencing charm had worn off when Harry had blacked out.

He didn't have any lessons with the Slytherin heir until after lunch, when they had Defence against the Dark Arts.

Salazar, he felt so paranoid, irrationally irritated, with a paranoia that only grew as he couldn't help but panic on whether the emotion was actually his or not. He couldn't help fearing that the connection was somehow going to swell to stronger levels, until he could no longer distinguish where he ended and Voldemort, or even Tom, began.

The feverish whispers and pointing, everywhere he went, weren't helping his mood either…they were probably, at a pinch, what was causing his irritation in the first place.

The students seemed to have, if possible, gotten worse in the time he was in the Hospital Wing. The worst part was that no one would confront him about their suspicions or questions openly - they all went quiet, gaping suspiciously, whenever he walked into ear shot. It wasn't even just a few select groups, it was over and over again, a vicious cycle. He probably shouldn't have expected any better from the ravenous public.

At least Hermione had got rid of Skeeter.

Nonetheless, when lunch came, Harry wasn't sure he could stomach the thought of the Great Hall.

He slowed as he, Ron and Hermione approached, uneasy. They both stopped to look at him.

"I'm just going to go to the kitchens," he muttered.

He felt silly avoiding the whisperers, but he just didn't have the energy to deal with it, not yet. They'd had three weeks to get over the deaths of the Hogsmeade raid, he'd had a few days. The loss of life was an open wound, festering and unpredictable, and his temper was already frayed from a morning of people craning their necks to look at him and either glaring or looking doe-eyed. Sickening.

"We'll come with you," Hermione offered immediately, with an understanding smile.

"No need," another voice, Tom, said. A hand took his arm, smoothly. "I can keep him company."

Harry didn't protest, he needed to talk to Tom anyway. Ron sighed heavily, turning and walking silently into the Great Hall in response. Hermione dithered helplessly on the spot for a moment, anguished and torn.

"Go with him," Harry instructed, lightly. "I'll see you guys later."  
Hermione nodded, sending Tom a suspicious look, to which the other pulled a smile of pure innocence.

She still didn't believe, after Tom's repeated comments, that his and Tom's relationship was totally platonic, despite his arguments to the contrary.

"We'll see you after lunch," she said pointedly. Harry inclined his head, agreeing, not having time to watch Hermione walk away before Tom had stated a bright "fabulous" and promptly started dragging him in the opposite direction towards the kitchens.

"You know," Harry stated. "I'm not actually hungry."

"Doesn't mean you're not going to eat," Tom replied. "Have you actually ingested anything outside of caffeine today?"

Harry wrinkled his nose.

"Of course I have," he said. "I was with _Her, _she stands over me hovering until I do." Tom looked amused. "So, I presume you want to talk to me?" Tom wouldn't do this without reason.

"Whatever makes you think I'm not simply seeing that you're fully recovered?" Tom returned.

"Cause you could have done that by coming to the Hospital Wing anytime in the last three days," he replied. Tom waved a dismissive hand.

"Why would I do that? You had ginger and the know-it-all to hold your hand, besides Zevi insisted on telling me everything about your recovery in extensive detail, anyway."

Harry felt a flash of annoyance, distracted momentarily.

"You could at least try and get on with them, you know," he said. Tom raised his brows.

"With ginger and the know-it-all? Why would I want to do that?"

"I suppose saying 'because it would be a nice gesture' wouldn't do anything for you?" he tried.

"How well you know me," Tom smirked. Harry didn't smile.

"I'm serious," he snapped. "It would make things a lot easier if I didn't constantly feel like a piece of rope in a tug-of-war game."

Tom stopped outside the kitchen doors.

"And why would I be interested in making things a lot easier, for you?" he questioned. Harry sneered, before ignoring Tom and tickling the pear.

In the seconds after the door opened, a small force smacked into his leg. Wha-? Dobby.

"Mr Harry Potter, sir! What is you doing here?" the small elf squealed happily. Harry immediately felt guilty for not visiting earlier.

"Hey Dobby, how are you? How's Winky? I was - we were - wondering if we could get something to eat. I don't really want to be in the Great Hall today. And it's Harry," he added uselessly, knowing the elf probably wasn't going to pay attention to that.

"Of course, anything, sir," the elf said enthusiastically.

A moment later several platters were offered up to them, and Dobby took a step back, babbling about his socks and the general life at Hogwarts. Then the elf looked at who 'Harry Potter's friend was.' The change was instantaneous, the cheerful elf deflated, eyes widening, lower lip trembling.

Tom ignored it, taking the food with a nod to the other house elves and walking out again. Harry hesitated.

"It's a long story," he offered, disregarding Tom's shout for him to 'come on.' "Thank you for the food."

Dobby was studying him with an uncharacteristically solemn expression on his wizened, wrinkly little face. There was understanding too, merciful understanding that neither Ron or Hermione had ever shown in regards to why he spent time with Tom.

"I hopes you knows what you are doing," the elf whispered.

Harry took that as a dismissal, leaving the kitchen, making a mental note to visit again soon. Tom seemed slightly impatient when he walked out, though he merely offered him a roll.

Harry took it, and they walked along in silence, before dropping to sit in an empty classroom.

It wasn't the most glamorous of picnic spots, but Harry suspected that Tom was as aware that Harry was here because he wanted to talk about something, as Harry was that Tom was here because he wanted something too.

"Who's the elf?" Tom asked finally.

"Dobby, he's a friend of mine," Harry said, jutting his chin out in defiance. Tom's mouth twisted into something like a smile, but without the genuine warmth.

"Figures," was all he said.

Harry chewed carefully on his roll as he regarded the other. Tom was staring back just intently, rules for social norms forgotten and cast aside like junk.

"You look tired," Harry noted.

"So do you," Tom returned. "Nightmares?"

"Visions," he replied, noting the lines of Tom's jaw tighten slightly. "You didn't tell him," he continued after a moment. "About the…" he trailed off. Horcruxes. "Why not?"

"What makes you think I didn't?" Tom dared, resting back on his hands, assessing. "You were unconscious." Harry paused, thinking it over.

"You didn't," he repeated, firmly, though he suddenly wasn't so sure. "Did you?" he jolted upright at the thought, glaring at the other.

A lazy smirk tugged across Tom's lips as he too leaned forwards.

"What would you do if I did?" the Slytherin Heir dared, close now.

"Hospitalize you," Harry replied, without skipping a beat. "I don't want him to know."

"I gathered that from the silencing charm," Tom said dryly. "Why not? Why don't you want him to know? Ashamed? Does the idea of my soul repulse you?"

Harry suddenly felt just slightly trapped.

"Did you tell him or not?" he demanded. Tom laughed, not entirely pleasantly.

"No, so you can relax, golden boy." Harry felt his muscles loosen marginally.

"Then why did you make me think you did?" he questioned, annoyed. Tom shrugged.

"You're fun to bait."

Harry scowled.

"So why didn't you tell him?" he asked again, starting to lose patience.

"Curious?"

"Yes!" Harry exploded. "So bloody well tell me already, you smug git."

"Eloquent," Tom remarked. Harry narrowed his eyes, moving to pack the stuff away. The Great Hall seemed preferable to this. "Oh don't sulk, sunshine, I'll tell you," Tom said, rolling his eyes.

Harry paused, turning to face the other again. "But first, I want you to guess," Harry recognised the challenge and appraised the other carefully. "And think aloud while you're at it," Tom added.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because it's interesting to listen to," Tom said. Harry rolled his eyes, but complied, knowing he was unlikely to get the answers he really needed without it.

"Okay, um…well, you didn't tell him at first because I silenced you, but you were going to, so something obviously changed." Harry thought back furiously. "He was about to kill me…you were buying time, but then Voldemort decided he wanted to kill me the long, painful way, rather than immediately, so you lost your incentive to tell him?" he offered. "Are you going to tell me if I'm right?" Tom made a keep-talking motion with his hand. Harry chewed his lip in thought. "I'm drawing a blank, you might have to tell me," he said.

"You know the answer," Tom said, gaze intent. Harry's brow furrowed. This was another test, wasn't it? The food was discarded around them.

Cautiously, oh so cautiously, he focussed on the connection he normally struggled so hard to avoid. He noticed Tom smirk slightly.

"Cheating, my dear? How unsporting of you," the young Dark Lord stated, though he didn't sound…or feel…particularly angry, more mocking.

Harry didn't reply, concentrating on the faint emotion: burning curiosity, fascination, pleasure and…possessiveness. There was a lot of something that could be considered possessiveness.

Then it clicked. And he wasn't happy with the answer.

"You don't like sharing," he realised, incredulous. "Even with him - note, _again, _that I'm a person not a possession." Harry paused. "Is that why you're against Ron and Hermione, you know they were there first, right?" He couldn't quite get over his shock.

"My horcrux," Tom smirked, as if that excused it. "You seem to be taking this remarkably well."

"Don't take it as a sign of surrender, it's only because of the overwhelming relief that Voldemort doesn't know about this that I'm not screaming at you. Just because you like the idea of being kept alive for all eternity, I don't. Especially when it involves an eternity of smothering and torture."

"Well, if you don't like what you hear from me, the best solution would probably be to stop prying," Tom commented lightly.

"Oh, and just let you get along with your evil plans that I apparently wouldn't like in peace? Society would crumble."

Tom chuckled.

"Ever the cynic, you don't believe I would make a good world leader?"

"Is that what you're planning? World domination?" he questioned, warily. Tom didn't reply, and Harry knew he couldn't take that as confirmation or denial, when it could be either one just as easily. "I think you'd make an excellent world leader," he said finally. "I just don't think it would be the type of world I'd, or 90% of the population, would want to live in."

"Ouch," Tom put a hand over his heart. "That hurts. Right here."

"Yes, empty spaces are known to ache when something's supposed to be there. People get phantom limbs too," Harry smirked.

Tom flicked a hex in his direction, which he swiftly dodged, still grinning. The smile faded after a moment.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about? We have defence against the Dark Arts in ten."

A/N: Another long chapter; am I on a roll? Thank you so so much for all the amazing reviews I've been reading. They make me go fan girl…well, author girl, smiling whenever I read them! And, which you guys probably care more about, makes me do more super fast updates. Hope you enjoy this one as much as the others - The Fictionist. 

PS: Review challenge on for 900 :) 

PPS: I need to think of something special to celebrate 1000 reviews, if I get there, with you guys...any ideas?


	60. Chapter 59

Chapter 59:

"What makes you think I want to talk to you about anything?" Tom asked. Harry raised his brows.

"Seriously? You're asking me that?" he demanded, incredulously. Tom smirked at his response, before reaching into his bag and pulling out a…book. Harry glanced at the other, askance, taking it when Tom handed it to him. _An Empath's guide for beginners. _

"Empath's? Empathy? Is that the thing where people can read other people's emotions?" he questioned, confused. "Cause I'm not an Empath. I can't-"

"You're not an Empath," Tom confirmed, guessing where he was going. "Empath's can read all emotions, you just pick up on mine and Voldemort's because of the soul bond."

Soul bond…Harry shivered. Urgh. It sounded like such a kind of nice, soul matey type thing, rather than the horrific horcrux situation it actually was.

"It's the same principle anyway, sort of, " Tom continued smoothly. "Due to the apparent breaking down of the paradox, (which has before now, in a way, kept you in flux between both of our minds so you don't go too deep into either, at least when your mind is active, with help from our Occlumency barriers) you're going to start to feel the connection grow stronger, hence, you are probably going to start getting more emotions, much like an empath would, only yours would be on a much smaller scale. Are you with me so far?" Tom questioned.

Harry blinked twice, causing Tom to chuckle slightly.

"The book will teach you how to control the emotions when they come in, and how to separate them from your own…which is what an Empath would have to do. So, read it, learn it, and apply it," Tom instructed. "Unfortunately, you're situation is unique, so this is the closest I could get."

It took a moment for Harry to realise that he felt touched that Tom had gone to the trouble of finding the book for him. It took another moment for his suspicions to rear their heads.

"Why are you giving me this?" he asked, frowning, "not that I don't appreciate it, so thanks, but…"

A second later his head imploded with pain, his teeth gritting to prevent a whimper from slipping through. His eyes watered. Then, it was gone. He stared up at Tom, breathless.

"Magic, strong magic, as you know, is fuelled by emotion - the non empathetic part of the connection means it will _hurt _when you start getting emotions, especially negative ones…as you just saw," Harry was almost certain he detected a hint of amusement, and scowled. Sadist. "It's irritating if you collapse every time I cast magic around you," Tom said, "and I will not have that liability. So…read it, learn it, apply it."

Harry tucked the book into his bag, about to speak, when Hermione rushed in, looking terrified.

Tom's features were impassive, with the barest hint of annoyance, and _fear_ not visible to anyone without a connection.

Harry felt annoyed himself at the sight of it, the annoyance that was. It really wouldn't kill Tom to put some effort into not treating his friends like dirt. He stood up.

"What is it?" he demanded, worried.

"He-V-You-V" she seemed to compose herself. "Voldemort's outside the castle."

Harry felt underwater, drowned, every sound suddenly seeming distorted..

"Everyone's looking for you Harry, the teachers are worried sick - I only knew you were because of the Mar-" Hermione came to an abrupt halt, glancing at Tom. Harry nodded to show he understand, knowing what she was going to say was 'the Marauders map'.

Tom was looking perfectly innocent, slightly confused and a little irritated. Harry studied him warily.

"I swear to _god _if you know something about this…" he trailed off. "You had better start talking now. What the hell is he doing here? Isn't there like - I mean…"

Why would Voldemort risk coming all the way up to Hogwarts?

"Dumbledore's out there now," Hermione told him breathlessly. "He's trying to sort everything out, and the Aurors have been called."

Harry felt sick to the stomach. Did Voldemort know…? No, he couldn't. Tom had said he hadn't told about the horcruxes! And no one else, outside of Dumbledore knew, and Dumbledore wouldn't tell and Tom didn't like sharing! He…he'd never flat out confirmed Harry's thoughts. He'd made it sound like he had, with his responses, but he'd never…f***. Tom also had the slight tendency to pathologically lie when it suited him, and Harry had most certainly made it very clear that he wouldn't be doing the other any favours if he told. This was the teenage Dark Lord who'd wiped his memory after all...

Why on earth did he feel so betrayed? He should have expected this. He felt like such an IDIOT. He felt cold, doused in ice as he turned to Tom. The other was watching him carefully.

"You lied," he said flatly.

"I'm a psychopath, we do that some-"

"-NO!" Harry yelled. "Don't use that as an excuse…you made the choice, no one forces you to do _anything. __**You bloody bastard.**_ Did you lie all about what happened once I blacked out, too?" he demanded furiously.

Hermione had turned ashen.

"Oh, so you'd prefer to be dead?" Tom questioned delicately. Harry shook his head, unbelieving of what he was hearing.

"I'd prefer you didn't sit and lie to my face! I thought you were my-" Harry dragged himself to a halt. _I thought you were my friend.  
_

Tom suddenly had an odd glint to his eyes, and Harry could feel his forehead beginning to twinge with the brewing emotions, but he couldn't bring himself to read it. He didn't like the connection. The only reason he'd looked earlier because he was terrified of Voldemort knowing...and now he knew.

"I suppose the two of you planned this whole thing, right?" Harry laughed, humourlessly. "Find some way around the paradox and let me think you'd changed, was that it? You know what…screw you."

He started to walk out the door, only for that invisible vice to clamp around his left arm.

"Don't walk away," Tom ordered, nearly hissing. Harry could feel his blood pounding in his head, his aura crackling threateningly. "You don't understand-"

"-No, I bloody well don't understand!" he snarled. "Let me go or I swear-"

"**Your heart **_**stopped**_**," **Tom took a step towards him, dangerously calm. "**Do you understand that? You were about to die!"**

Harry snapped his wand out as his temper snapped with it, shifting to a duelling stance.

He'd promised hospitalisation…

A/N: Shorter, I know, but I BET you weren't expecting that! HA. Sorry, that was a childish response. I just really hoped I surprised you, did I have you convinced Tom was niceish? Of course, he still might be, you don't know his reasoning, but he could just be a total psychopath…what do you guys think? Thank you so much for all the reviews, as always! If I reach 1000...you shall be rewarded. I don't know how yet, but you will be…feel free to give suggestions. =) Wow. I'm in shock.

Oh, and the next chapter should be longer, and probably one of the last of my super quick updates in a while. End of the holidays and all that jazz...need to concentrate on my studies. 

* * *

_Okay, so a lot of people have asked me for suggestions for any good Slytherin/Dark/Grey Harry stories, and quite a few were anonymous, so I'm putting it here…you may be familiar with a few of these…_

1) Welcome to Hogwarts 1949. - abandoned, but absolutely brilliant in what there is. Best characterisation of Tom I have ever seen, in my opinion, and inspired me to write a fan fiction.

2) What if the world turned it's head sideways - again, brilliant, seems to be abandoned, but there's two years worth of Slytherin Harry. 1st and Second year. Very good. Based on the premise of what would happen if Harry meant Fred and George before he got really talking to Ron. The most realistic of what would happen if Harry went Slytherin that I've ever read, and I've read more than I remember or admit to…

3) Anything by Dark Cyan Star or Epic Solemnity's Death of Today. I'm not a slash fan, but these were brilliantly written, and he/she marks strong slash scenes so if you're not into that, then you can skip easily.

4) Kurinoone's Dark Harry series.

I will get back to you if I think of more, =) I can't remember names of all the good stories I've read. As you might have noticed, a lot of them involve Tom and Harry, or Tom and Voldemort, though "What if" doesn't majorly outside of canon events, and is AWESOME.


	61. Chapter 60

**Parseltongue**

Chapter 60:

Tom's wand was also out in an instant, as he blocked the spell rushing towards him.

"Harry, be reasonable-" Riddle started.  
Harry ignored it, sending another spell, which Tom dodged, before sending a volley back. Harry started to dodge too, before realising with horror that the invisible clamp, the mark, was still keeping his arm locked in place.

He blocked in the last second, smashing the curse back to its caster. He tried not to panic at the thought that his usual duelling style, based more on movement than shielding (though his shields were strong too) was obsolete. His seeker reflexes were of no aid when he didn't have space to move.

He sent back an even more determined blast of magic, which Tom disintegrated as it approached him, sending it back in the form of a disarming spell.

"Both of you stop it!" Hermione shrieked, trying to get between them. "This isn't the time -" his best friend drew her wand as a curse narrowly missed her, pointing it at Tom.

"Hermione-" Harry snarled. "Get out of the way!"

"No," she said stubbornly. "Can't you see this stupid? V-Voldemort's outside and you two want to start trying to kill each oth-" a parseltongue stunner hit her chest on, causing her to stumble back in surprise, before dropping.

Non parselmouth's couldn't block spells cast in snake language, Harry didn't know why, but it was really useful. Except when he was duelling Tom - then it was much like if they'd been duelling in English, regardless of their changes in language.

"Hermione!" he tried to take a step towards her, but the mark tugged him back, right as another spell slammed past his shields. Some dark curses were also not blocked by simple shield charms, however strong.

His wand clattered out of his hand, his knees hitting the floor, his body falling and…stopped just before impact with the ground. A hand rested firmly on his shoulder, keeping him upright.

"Hero complex," a voice murmured, chidingly, close to his ear, the breath tickling and warm. "**You're a powerful wizard, Harry, and a formidable dueller…but even you can't fight me when confined to a square metre of movement."**

** "You don't fight fair," **Harry hissed.

"I know," Tom said softly, switching to English once more, leaning back slightly. "Now, are you done with the temper tantrum?"

In response, Harry drew back with his fist and punched. Tom made a noise of pain as the blow made impact with his stomach, before reaching a hand to catch hold of Harry's free wrist (the one not trapped by the mark), so tightly that he could feel his bones grind together.

"That was foolish of you," the Slytherin Heir commented, no longer sounding quite so forgiving or friendly. Harry merely bared his teeth in reply, glaring from his somewhat humiliating kneeling position. Tom was crouched in front of him, same level, eyes dark and intent.

"Let go of me," Harry growled.

"What?" Tom arched his brows. "So you can attack me again? I don't think so, hero. No, you're going to listen to me explain my actions."

"What's there to explain?" he snapped. "You lied to my face, you knocked out my best friend-"

"Saved your life," Tom added, in a helpful, dangerous tone of voice.

"You told Voldemort I was a horcrux!"

"I know. I was there," Tom stated, sounding irritated now. Harry shook his head, incredulous.

"And you don't see anything wrong with that?" he demanded. "No, of course you don't, you're a psychopath who doesn't give a _damn _about anyone else-"

"_Silencio." _Harry felt his words die in his throat, no sound coming out, and shut his mouth in a thin, hard line.

"Frustrating, isn't it?" Tom mocked. Harry narrowed his eyes. "Would you like me to put the rest of you in a body bind while we're here, too? Or are you going to sit nicely and behave?" The other paused, mouth curling cruelly, before he added. "You can blink twice for yes and three times for no."

Harry wanted to ask how many times he had to blink for 'go screw yourself'. Tom waited for a moment, before questioning:

"Do you really want to make this more difficult for yourself? I'm trying to help you out here."

Harry sighed, silently. Why did Tom have to be so confusing? He wasn't supposed to be considerate in his own twisted way while simultaneously holding him on his knees after betraying him to Voldemort. It made his head hurt.

"Do you?" Tom demanded harshly, shaking him when he didn't answer. Harry finally blinked three times, his jaw clenched angrily. No, he didn't want to make this more difficult.

"Okay, good," Tom said, loosening his grip.

Harry glanced down at his wrist…he could already feel the finger shaped bruises tingling beneath his skin, ready to rise and mar his flesh purple and yellow and green.

Tom pointed his wand at it, causing Harry to stiffen, and Tom to pause at his reaction, studying him, before muttering a smell. The next second, his wrist felt cold, iced. He felt even more confused. Then those pale, long fingered hands moved to his temples, and he jerked back, but Tom merely tightened his grip slightly, anticipating the movement.

What was he doing? Harry opened his mouth to ask, heart thudding a hammer and nails rhythm against his rib cage. Tom caught his gaze.

"I'm showing you the memory of what happened after you blacked out, it won't hurt you."

The next second, all the world but Tom's hands on his head faded away.

* * *

_He was on the battlefield, watching it happen, noticing the confrigo rebound back in his direction, knowing this was where everything went black for him. He looked to see Tom, the non memory Tom, standing next to him, watching the scene before them, and turned his head around again to observe. _

_Tom…the memory Tom…lunged forwards, catching hold of him…the memory of him (god, that was confusing!) and cradling him close, stopping him from falling, glaring at his elder self. Harry's chest…his chest…was in tatters, blood everywhere. Harry wasn't surprised his heart stopped. _

_"__**Fix him," **__Tom demanded, harshly. "__**You said you didn't want him dead." **_

_Voldemort laughed, coldly. _

_"__**I have no objection**__," the snake faced man hissed, "__**if he happens to die."**_

"_**He's a horcrux,"**__ Tom stated flatly. For the briefest second, Voldemort lost his composure, red eyes flashing with shock and wonder and possessiveness, before hatred won out, a sneer crawling across the lipless mouth. _

_"__**I have plenty of other, better ones,"**__ Voldemort replied._

"_**Five,"**__ Tom said coldly. "__**The diary is destroyed, and soon Harry will be too, if you don't help me! And I assure you, if you let him die you'll quickly find those remaining five dropping to zero." **_

"_**You dare -"**__ Voldemort began, before starting to circle the two of them on the floor, predatory._

_ Harry noticed Tom glance down at him, hand fluttering across his pulse points to find traces of his heart beat with a slight panic. This must have been about the time his heart stopped. _

_"__**So weak,**__" Voldemort spat, ignoring the Death Eaters who were shifting uneasily at the prolonged conversation of parseltongue. "__**Can't you see he makes you weak? Look at you, boy…sitting in the dirt. It's pathetic."**_

"_**Then by all means, let him die," **__Tom murmured, eyes venomous. __**"Get rid of my weakness, my **_**only **_**weakness mind, make me invincible, oh do," **__Tom's lips were drawn back over his teeth, more animalistic than human, his last pleads dripping with sarcasm and something else. "__**But bear in mind, **_**gramps**_**, that you will be the first person I come after. I will bring your world to the ground." **__Tom paused. __**"And we both know I could."**_

_There was a moment of silence, so loud it could have been a scream. _

_**"Fix him. Now." **_

_Voldemort looked disinterested, with traces of fury flickering like serpent tongues in his aura, before he beckoned a nameless, faceless Death Eater over. _

_All Harry could tell was that she was female, with sweeping blonde hair. He vaguely recognised her from somewhere. Tom's grip on him tightened, possessively, causing the women to pause, before she continued, beginning to work on healing him. Tom's jaw was rigid._

_** "**__My lord-" a dark, curly haired death Eater began, tremulously. "What are you doing?" _

_Voldemort didn't answer her, staring down at the three of them. Tom was paying the Dark Lord only inches from him absolutely no heed, until he spoke again. _

_"__**He won't thank you for this,**__" Voldemort sneered. __**"And he won't stay once he finds out you told me about his…condition. He's no different to anyone else. The only person you can trust is **__**me**__**." **_

_Tom glanced up, expression unreadable, but didn't comment, turning his attention back to the blonde Death Eater's work. Harry saw Voldemort looked noticeably irate at this casual dismissal. _

"_**He'll understand," **__Tom said, finally, causing Voldemort's sneer to deepen. Tom looked up sharply. "__**He'll understand," **__he repeated. __**"He's mine." **_

_And with the shouts of people approaching; the memory faded out once more._

* * *

Harry felt himself land back in reality, staring at Tom's face.

The other slowly removed his fingers from Harry's temples, studying him carefully. Harry pulled his knees to his chest, his mind spinning. He could see Tom's reasoning, and knew some would consider his reaction to be irrational, or over the top, but he'd…it would have been better if Tom had just flat out told him, rather than a play a charade and _lie. _

It was the endless, remorseless lying he couldn't stand.

He felt distinctly awkward, absently running his hand across his arm when the mark released it back to his side. Tom was still watching him.

Harry had reacted just like Voldemort had said he would…Salazar, bile clawed up his throat.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, avoiding Tom's gaze. Tom shrugged, seemingly carelessly.

"Why are you so scared of him knowing?" the Slytherin heir asked after a moment.  
That was the big question, wasn't it?

Harry shifted uncomfortably, stretching his legs out. They clicked all too loudly in the quiet of the room.

He knew he should be rushing to confront Voldemort, but this conversation…seemed important. Even if he didn't like to openly admit it, he cared enough of Tom's opinion, all of his banter and apparent lack of respect aside, to be able to run away in good conscience.

"I-" his throat felt dry. "I couldn't see his reaction, Voldemort's, that is. If it was like yours…" he swallowed thickly, examining his fingers with more attention than strictly necessary. "He can't be like you. At all."

His explanation felt weak, stupid, he couldn't put it into words to express the utter terror of it all.

"Even if he wasn't like you, him keeping me alive for an eternity of torture, never killing me…I can't face that." He looked up at Tom, his thoughts a mess. "I'd rather just die." T

om's eyes were boring into his skull, as if the other were lifting his thoughts out of his head. With a flash of insight, he realised that when Tom looked like he was performing legilimency on him, but wasn't, that he could be using the connection to pinpoint emotions.

"I-" he tried again to explain, probably sounding like a total moron with all of his stopping and starting. "I _hate _him," he said fiercely. "You know that, already, don't you? I hate Voldemort, I hate what he's done and I hate what he stands for…if he reacts like you, when I have to…I have to _kill _him, Tom.. Apparently, I'm the only one who can, and…I can't just let him destroy the world and keep hurting people…if he's like you…I can't…I can't do that so easily."

He couldn't just kill _Tom_, he never had been able, not since he'd found Tom wasn't Voldemort, and that inability was only growing the more Harry got to the know the bizarre, brilliant, _damaged _wizard in front of him

. He felt increasingly nervous when Tom just stared at him, not replying, but resisted the urge to clear his throat or give his anxiety away so easily. Instead, he raised his brows.

"Hello?" he asked. "Anyone in there?" Tom smirked slightly at that.

"God, we're messed up," the Slytherin Heir stated finally. Harry felt a laugh startle out of him. Tom's head tilted to one side "Do you really think it's your job to get rid of Voldemort?" he questioned.

"Me and everyone else in Britain," Harry said, shrugging, trying to ignore how odd it felt to be talking about defeating Voldemort with Tom.

"Yes, well everyone else in Britain we're a couple," Tom reminded dryly. Harry snorted. There was a moment of silence, as his thoughts turned to the Dark Lord outside at this very moment. His scar ached.

"He planned this," Harry realised. Tom glanced at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Voldemort," Harry clarified. "He planned this. He knew how I'd react…he wanted us to-" he searched for the right word.

"Break up with each other?" Tom offered. Harry smirked, shaking his head. It worked as well as any other way of putting it, he supposed. Or maybe Tom's twisted humour was growing on him.

"Yeah…your first time getting dumped," he added, innocently, causing Tom to narrow his eyes. Harry grinned.

"It would be the other way round, sweetheart," Tom said. "I can assure you of that."

"I punched you, I tried to walk out… so you got…" he trailed off at Tom's expression, smothering laughter.

"Shut up."

"Shutting…" Harry said, glancing at Hermione, the amusement draining from him. "So, Voldemort, give him in hell?"

"Give him hell," Tom agreed.

They rose.

A/N: Another quick update! And a longer one too…but, admittedly, it's because I have been writing ahead for the last couple of chapters, cause I've had free time and inspiration. It will probably stop either now or tomorrow, because my holiday is ending, so I won't be as bored or with as much free time. 

I hope you guys still like story, I personally like this chapter, though I wasn't sure on the last one. And wow, is this is a miracle? I actually don't hate one of my chapters! 

Thanks for the reviews, they are much appreciated. I love reviews, they keep me writing this story =) 

PS: Anyone feel like returning the favour with recommendations for a good story? Just no OCs, or Self Inserts, they annoy the hell out of me. And with Harry as one of the main characters. Cheers. But don't feel pressured. 


	62. Chapter 61

Chapter 61:

Tom pulled out a wand to awake Hermione, but Harry shook his head, catching hold of his arm to prevent the movement. Harry instead transfigured one of the desks into a bed, and levitated his best friend onto it. Tom raised his eyebrows in question.

"I don't want her to come with," he explained quietly. "It'll only put her in danger."

"Yes, she's a liability," Tom agreed, causing Harry to narrow his eyes.

"I didn't mean it like that," he snapped. "And she's not. She's brilliant."

Tom waved a dismissive hand.

"I'm_ brilliant_," the Slytherin Heir replied, without either an ounce of modesty or boast. "She's just smart and good at remembering academics. Different thing."

"She's more than that," Harry argued, as they headed out of the abandoned classroom. "You'd know this if you actually took the opportunity to get to know her, and Ron."

"And it would please you if I did?" Tom questioned disinterestedly.

"Yeah, it would," he said, but Tom didn't seem to find that worth responding too. They walked in silence, when the thought suddenly hit him. A wicked smile spread across his lips, which Tom caught, giving him a curious look. "I think I've just had an idea…"

* * *

Harry stormed ahead, onto the grounds, clutching his wand tightly in his hands.

"Harry!" Tom sprinted after him, looking panicked. Voldemort and Dumbledore both looked up as the two of them arrived on the scene.

He could see, vaguely, in the background, that a large majority of the population of the school had their faces pressed up against the windows of the school, watching everything going on. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if one of them whipped out an old pair of omnioculars.

"Harry, m'boy," Dumbledore began, sounding worried. Harry ignored it, coming to a halt right in front of Voldemort, even as Tom caught hold of his arm, trying to pull him back.

"Don't do this…" the younger Slytherin heir said, almost pleadingly, Harry shook him off furiously.

Voldemort's lip curled.

"Ah, there seems to have been a lovers spat, Albus," Voldemort remarked mildly, cruelly. "I do hope it wasn't my doing?"

Harry clenched his fists, glaring.

"Did he tell you?" he demanded.

"Harry…" Tom tried again, only to fall silent as Harry rounded on him, snarling a venomous "shut up," before turning back to Voldemort once more. The snake faced man was impassive.

"Yes," Voldemort said, a strange gleam in his eyes. "I-**you'll understand how this changes things, Harry." **Harry started for a moment, his heart pounding, confusion brewing in the corners of his psyche, before he glared further.

"It changes _nothing_," he hissed. "Because I will stop at nothing to see you dead and back in hell with the devil that spawned you." He shot Tom a foul look. "And you can go home and stay the f*** away from me, you backstabbing bastard."

"I had to tell him-" Tom started, but Harry merely sneered.

"Oh, you had to tell him, did you? And here was me thinking that no one told the _great _Tom Riddle to do anything he didn't want to. You're so full of crap." Harry felt his eyes growing hot with tears. "I thought I could _trust you. _My mistake."

Tom's temper seemed to snap.

"And I thought I knew you better than this," the teenage Dark Lord's voice had grown cold, icy. "My mistake. But then…whatever else should I expect from the famous Boy-Who-Lived…"

"Screw you," Harry snapped, swiping at his eyes.

"You're pathetic," Tom fired back, before turning to Voldemort, the lines of his face hard and unyielding. "Are you going to say I told you so now?"

Dumbledore was watching the proceedings very carefully. He felt Voldemort's scarlet eyes rest on him, feel the disgust and loathing despite the gentleness of the Dark Lord's tone.

"If you ever want to talk about this…development, you know we're to find me. **For old time's sake." **

Harry merely stared back, keeping his features expressionless with difficulty, his blood pounding through his veins at light speed.

"I hope the two of you _choke, _and are very happy together_," _he replied finally, before turning and walking back to the castle, ignoring Tom's shout. "Because I'm through with this."

* * *

Once there, he was immediately bombarded by Ron, and the Slytherins.

"You alright, mate? Where's Hermione? She was looking for you - did Riddle do something?" his best friend asked in quick succession, but Harry didn't get the chance to reply before Abraxas and Zevi had promptly hauled in to the side, away from the red head.

"What do you think you're doing?" Abraxas demanded, is perfect composure unravelling fast. "Have you and Tom broken up?" Again, with the couple insinuations…Harry sighed.

"You've argued before," Zevi said desperately. "You're not seriously just going to drop everything now, are you? Evans, he's-"

"-I swear to god if you've hurt him," Lestrange barged his way through towards them, pointing his wand threateningly in Harry's face. "I will make you pay, you stupid-"

"Back off," Tom said lazily, walking towards them. "It's alright." The Slytherins all froze, but obeyed without question.

"Tom-" Lestrange began.

"I hope you two are very happy together?" Tom quoted, eyebrows arched. Harry smirked.

"I particularly liked that line…and 'the famous Boy-who-lived'? Really?" Tom smirked back at his response.

"I thought it was a nice, resentful little touch. Either way, he bought it."

"Bought it?" Alphard questioned, sounding completely confused. "You two aren't actually arguing, then?"

Harry couldn't help but notice how relieved all the Slytherins -barring Lestrange who had a face like he'd swallowed a lemon - looked.

"No," Harry shook his head. "Buying time."

The Slytherins still appeared lost.

"Did You-Know-Who try and turn you against each other?" Ron asked, shrewdly. All the Slytherins, including Lestrange this time, gaped at the Gryffindor in as obvious way as Slytherin's ever gape.

"How did you-?" Abraxas was studying the red head in a new light. Ron appeared slightly uncomfortable. Harry tilted his head, also curious, when his best friend grimaced at him.

"Bloody hell, give me some credit Harry, I may not be a snake but I have been your best mate for five years. I know how you react to things."

Harry felt a grin tug relentlessly at the corners of his mouth, a great swell of affection growing in his chest for his two favourite Gryffindors, before he shot Tom a smug, challenging 'see, my friends are awesome' expression, which the other sneered at.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. "He did. Git."

Ron laughed, sounding surprised at the fact he was laughing. The next second Hermione stumbled in.

"Oh- have you seen-Harry! Thank goodness you're alright!" she exclaimed, glaring at Tom, before taking a moment to assess the situation, her brow furrowing.

"What did I miss?"

* * *

A/N: I actually despise this chapter. Though I don't normally particularly feel proud of my writing, this is a new level. This whole scene sounded so much funnier and better in my head =( Sorry guys. Next chapter will hopefully be better.

On the sunny side…THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE AWESOME REVIEWS! I felt so happy, with a renewed sense of 'yay Fate's Favourite is worth it.' So thank you. And oh my god, I'm almost on 1000 reviews. I never thought anything I wrote would be so popular. This is amazing. I really hope you guys continue to enjoy and like the story, even with this chapter. Thank you also for your story suggestions, I was surprised to see how many of them I'd actually read before. I've done more reading on this site than I thought I had…

Anyway, thank you again! YOU ARE ALL AMAZING! Adios.


	63. Chapter 62

Chapter 62:

Much later, Harry walked slowly back into the Slytherin common room.

From the looks the Gryffindor's were giving him (barring Ginny) he assumed he would soon be welcome back in the lion's den again, since rumour had it he'd 'defeated' Voldemort once more.

Yet, in a way, even the thought of staying in the Tower felt odd, despite the strong fondness he still felt for the place. He was so used to Slytherin now, with it's darkness and heated stone floors. He'd grown accustomed to the power plays and the ever changing atmosphere, the twist and spin of influence.

Suddenly, horribly, inexplicably, the in your face brightness and bravery of Gryffindor seemed daunting. He wasn't sure how he'd deal with obvious challenges, or whether he'd be paranoid and search for jabs where in Gryffindor there were none. He wanted to go back there, he did, but he was…he hated the fact that some members of the house had completely turned on him for his association with the snakes.

This weekend, well, not this weekend anymore, the Hogsmeade weekend, had all been about grounding himself and finding himself again in the shadows, but that had totally backfired on him.

Despite his cheerful, relatively content mood, deeper inside he felt _so _lost. He was scared too, when he allowed himself to introspect further on his actions.

Messing with Voldemort was hilarious, but it had consequences. Dangerous, painful ones. Voldemort was going to be furious when he found out he'd been played…Voldemort. That was a mind screw if he'd ever known one. What had the Dark Lord meant by coming and going so quickly? It didn't make any sense, it seemed random…and yet. Something about the Dark Lord's commentary had his skin crawling. _You'll understand how this changes things, Harry. _It changed nothing! Voldemort still wanted him dead, he still wanted Voldemort dead. It changed nothing, nor would it ever.

So why was he acting like he did?

_If you ever wanted to talk about this…you know where to find me. _He didn't understand. Voldemort had told Tom that he, basically, didn't give a damn that Harry was a horcrux, because he had better ones…so why was he acting like this? He was probably just trying to screw with Harry's head or something. It _wasn't_ working.

He dropped into a seat, pulling out the huge, neglected stack of homework from when he'd been in the hospital wing, eyeing it like it could bite him.

He tried to concentrate, but found he was unable, especially with the feeling of eyes on him. Staring pensively. He flicked his eyes up. Tom inclined his head slightly towards the common room door, and Harry stood up.

It was past curfew, but since when had he ever truly cared about that? It was easy enough to avoid the teachers, most of them had their own sleeping to do. Sure he had homework…but…Hermione would scowl at him if he were there.

The Slytherin's looked up as the two of them left, gazes following them until they were out of the door. They probably thought they were 'sneaking' off for a secret snogging session, or something. No he wasn't bitter, or sour…well, perhaps only slightly. It got tiring, especially as he could tell that most people only thought Tom favoured him because of it. It didn't really matter, but it was a tad insulting. Not to mention demeaning. The whole couple thing did amuse him too, but like everything, the joke could get old.

It entertained him when Tom played with the idea, but it annoyed him when anyone else did. He wasn't going to psychoanalyse that.

He studied Tom carefully as they walked, wondering what the other wanted. They stopped outside of the room of requirement, Tom walked before the wall three times, before entering, holding the door open. Harry slipped in, taking in the room.

It was one of Harry's favourite settings of choice, when Tom didn't mimic the Slytherin common room (which he did ninety percent of the time because Tom was controlling like that.)

He glanced at the other curiously.

The room was airy and light, opening up to the sky like the great hall did. He breathed a sigh of content as he walked in further. He loved the sight of open sky, and tonight was a starry night.

Tom dropped onto a couch, lounging elegantly, regarding him with a slight air of amusement. He merely shrugged back; he liked the sky. Tom raised his brows, smirking faintly, as if to reply 'I know' in a more than sarcastic manner. Harry rolled his eyes, making his way over the fire place, sitting down there.

He liked the warmth of the flames, the way they flickered, always changing…and it wasn't like he could ever sit like this in front of a fire in the Slytherin common room, people would ultimately take it subconsciously as a 'I am lower status' then you thing. He wondered absently why he felt comfortable doing so in front of Tom then - before figuring it was probably because he knew bloody well that Tom thought like everyone was inferior anyway, so it didn't make any difference.

Besides, Tom was relaxed too, he didn't lie down across whole couches in Slytherin, even when it had cleared out.

It was the horcrux. Somehow, he just felt calmer when Tom was. He couldn't help but wonder if it went the other way too.

They sat in a surprisingly companionable silence for a moment, as he waited for the Slytherin heir to speak.

When Tom said nothing, he finally looked around again. The other's head was rested back against the arm of the sofa, tipped back, eyes watching the stars above like it could reveal mysteries. He suddenly felt bad asking if there was a reason behind this impromptu meeting, even if there most likely was. Nonetheless, he studied the other further, before coming to a realisation.

Tom's relaxed state wasn't as relaxed as his sprawling posture would imply…well, he was relaxed…but he was also lost in thought. And…

"You're troubled," he said, startled by the thought, before inwardly wincing as he noted that he'd just prodded at something Tom was only just coming to terms with himself, with all the tact of a blunt sledgehammer.

It wasn't noticeable, not at all, it was just a flittering suspicion in the back of his mind. Tom's eyes flicked to him.

"Hmm? What did you say?"

"You're troubled," he repeated, cautiously. Tom stared at him for a moment.

"So are you," was all the other said. Harry almost laughed; trust Tom to be able to smoothly put the conversation on you within the space of three words.

"What is it?" he asked, instead.

"I'm _fine,_" Tom rebutted, a tad sharper now. Harry tilted his head, a feeling in his gut, wondering if he should go on his hunch. It couldn't even be called a hunch. Even if he was right, he couldn't flat out say it, Tom would shove any reassurance or comfort offered by him back as a token of weakness. And that was this was about.

Weakness, the thing Tom so hated and feared. He shrugged, turning back to the fire, pretending to dismiss it. How to do this? Oh…

"Tom…" he began, hesitantly. "You know Voldemort?"

"What about him?" Tom's gaze shot to him, his posture moving just a fraction to accommodate the change in position.

"Do you know what the whole thing about 'nothing has changed' was about? In your memory he didn't care,"

"What, do you think I showed you the wrong one?" Tom questioned, something in his shook his head immediately, that thought hadn't even occurred to him. Tom's eyes seemed to pierce his soul, before he continued. "Perhaps you don't trust me?"

"Of course I don't trust you," Harry said immediately, noting the lines of Tom's face harden, before he grinned easily. "Never trust a Dark lord, but, no, I don't think you manipulated the memory, don't be ridiculous, I would have exploded on you before now if I did. I'm just interested to know if you have any theories on what his game is? I mean, it's very odd, isn't it? Then again, it's Voldemort…he's always spouted nothing but crap," Harry continued, watching Tom as intently as he could while remaining seemingly casual.

"I'm wondering if I should take offence to that statement," Tom said mildly. "What crap does he come out with? Because if you're going to give me some holier than thou lecture on morality again, I should warn you now I'm not in the mood to humour you."

Wow, that was pretty much the closest admittance Tom would give that something was wrong. He was on the right track. Hopefully.

"Well," Harry shrugged, carelessly. "That stuff about you being pathetic and weak for one thing, come on, we _both _know that's not true." He could have sworn Tom stopped breathing.

"Yes, Harry, no worries that he's got a whole army on his command…I have the _power_," Tom said mockingly, smirking as if the conversation meant nothing to him. Harry knew better.

"All the better for the bastard to hide behind," he retorted, grinning as if the idea amused him. "Seriously though, he's a total coward, your threats sent him running with his tail between his legs, he's terrified about you."

Harry pulled a thoughtful face.

"Do you think that's why he belittles you? Trying to make himself feel better? He's a shadow of you after all."

"Careful," Tom returned lightly, "if you weren't simultaneously insulting him one might think you're paying me a compliment."

"Never," Harry said solemnly. "It is, after all, my duty to make sure your ego doesn't swell further. Lestrange doesn't help. Sycophant. You know, I really think he'd appreciate dog biscuits for Christmas, he'd probably get a kick out of it…"

"And they say I'm the cruel one," Tom said dryly.

"Another reason why Voldemort is pathetic," Harry mused. "You've got _me,_ so, clearly, you get the power of awesome due to association."

"And modesty, too?" Tom smirked, though Harry noted it was less forced this time, and frowned.

"Don't be ridiculous, you have no modesty. You're an arrogant jerk," he replied.

Tom's features were the epitome of innocence.

"Now really, Harry, just as I thought we were actually having a nice conversation where you didn't insult me, you go and say something like that…."

"Yeah, well, you'd think I was polyjuiced. Had to make sure you knew you were still talking to me, and anyway, I speak but the truth…"

"Brat."

There was a moment of silence, this time filled with a sense of accomplishment. Tom hadn't rejected what he said, and he didn't think he'd been too obvious.

"He fears you too, you know," Tom said, softly this time, joking aside. Harry's stared at the fire, his jaw suddenly going rigid. "I think that's why he's trying to screw with your head…he's scared you'll finish him, something makes him believe you can." There was a pause. "Can't think what really, since it's you," Tom added mockingly. "But the wizarding world seems to believe it too."

Harry swallowed, hard. This conversation had drifted to uncomfortable waters.

"The wizarding world believes a lot of things, like you said," he replied.

"And yet…" Tom stared at him, fascination evident, as he seemingly lost himself in thought again, before he grinned dazzlingly when Harry was started to feel extremely awkward at the undivided attention. "We should get back to the common room. I believe there to be a large, friendly pile of homework awaiting you."

Tom stood smoothly, striding towards to the door. Harry groaned at the reminder, unmoving.

"You know, if I had some help with that homework…" he began.

"I'm not doing your homework for you," Tom replied immediately. "Don't be lazy."

"There's _tons. _I'm going to be behind. And fail everything. It will be your fault."

"I'm sure my conscience will cry every night," Tom said. "Really."

Harry sneered, but rose after a moment, taking one last look at the enchanted sky - now unfortunately clouded over - before he started back for the common room.

It was Christmas is a couple of weeks.

A/N: Another long chapter, aren't you guys so lucky? =P And quite quickly too. If I'm honest, I had a slightly suckish, stressful day…so I wrote to blow off some steam. And your reviews always cheer me up, so it was twofold. And I hated the last chapter, and wanted to put it behind me. So here you go, enjoy? Thanks for the reviews. 

I don't know when i'll next have time to write more, but i'll try not to abandon or hiatus this story or anything.

OH! AND REVIEW CHALLENGE IS ON AGAIN FOR 1000! (and oh my god, people really like this that much :O)  
I need to think of something special. What reward would you guys like for a 1000 reviews? As a thank you gift from me to you?


	64. Chapter 63

Chapter 63:

Hogsmeade trips had been cancelled for the foreseeable future due to the attack, leaving Harry with no option but to flick frantically through Owl Order catalogues to try and figure out what he was getting all his friends for Christmas.

Some were easy; he got Zevi some state of the art potions ingredients to play with, Lestrange some dog biscuits, Ron a new broom since he was on the Quidditch team now too (and because it was something he'd like, and be more likely to accept.)

He got Abraxas a scarf (he asked Draco to pick out the colour, cause he failed at that type of stuff that Malfoy's seemed to care about) with protective and heating charms.

They were more expensive than the stuff that he normally got for even his close friends (he got less close friends just normal gifts like chocolate, or in Neville's case a quirky magical pot plant for him to grow) but that was just another thing he'd picked up from Slytherin. Get someone something good, which they either or liked or had some other special significance…or don't get them anything at all.

He might have bent the rule slightly with Lestrange, but the other had been more annoying than ever before. Harry just got the feeling something was _up - _as if he didn't have enough on his plate regarding other people's grievances with Ginny!

Lestrange's ire had only increased after his and Tom's mock fight, and he couldn't help but wonder why.

Of course, the little lackey had probably just got hopeful that he would be Tom's 'new favourite' or something equally Death Eater-ish and lame, but really. It was infuriating, and, admittedly, getting a tiny bit alarming in its intensity.

There were several times that he thought Lestrange would attack if there were no witnesses around to stop him, or if he was brave enough or confident enough to think he'd succeed. Lestrange seemed more the type to stab you when you're back was turned. He'd made sure _not _to turn his back either way.

He was still stuck for ideas of what to get Hermione and Tom.

Hermione, his immediate thought had been a book, but then he'd started wondering if Hermione ever minded getting nothing but books. He was toying with the idea of getting her a necklace or perfume, or something vaguely _feminine_, but then adding protective charming.

It was therefore useful, and a little different.

Yet, he was worried that she might think he was trying to patronise her or…he was wary of misjudging the situation. Hermione hated the way girl_ girls _(not that Hermione wasn't a girl!) like Lavender and Parvati giggled over boys and talked incessantly about things like make up.

And yet…he remembered on Privet Drive how some of the older girls complaining to one another how the boys they were friends with just treated them like 'one of the guys.' He hadn't understood it at the time, but…

Tom was even more difficult to Christmas shop for; not in the least because he was fully capable of getting himself whatever he wanted, if he wanted it - and then, if by some chance he wasn't able to get what he wanted (like, er, world domination or Harry willing joining him or whatever his scheme was) then it wasn't something _Harry _could or would ever give him either.

Due to this, it was totally unfair that Tom should have Christmas and his birthday only six days apart. He didn't know what to get.

He knew the others were getting the Slytherin all sorts of fancy, expensive things like books that came up with information you ever asked for, a pet snake apparently, a small sphere that sparkled around objects of supreme power and several old, ancient pureblood-y things…Lestrange was being naff and giving Tom a Lestrange Family ring for his sixteenth birthday.

He wasn't sure how Tom would take that; especially as it implied him to be under the favour of the Lestranges, rather than the other way round.

In the end, he considered just asking.

* * *

He decided to bring the topic up during Occlumency that night.

To be honest, he was fast losing any enthusiasm for the Mind Art - he was terrible at it, had so far seen _no _improvement, and was also now wondering whether it was a good idea to keep blocking the connection anyway. He didn't like the pain, but he hadn't even known about the Azkaban breakout.

It wasn't like any of the light adults with whom he had contact ever told him anything about what was going on, so, really, the link to Voldemort was the only way he had any idea about what was truly going on in the war.

Tom seemed to be getting fed up with his lack of progress too, but hadn't, so far, commented on it. One of their lessons was going to explode soon enough though, and in the meanwhile, his barriers from the paradox (and, thus, the block Tom had put up) was crumbling.

He had yet to wake up with screams ripping from his lungs, but it was steadily getting worse again. Bloody Mind Arts.

"Tom?" he asked, during a pause, clutching his throbbing head.

"Yes?" Tom asked, his tone perhaps a tad tight.

"What do you want for Christmas, or your birthday?"

Tom stopped, looking at him. He arched his brows when no reply came.

"I didn't realise you cared about that type of thing," Tom said finally. Harry shrugged.

He hadn't got Tom anything in the past because he'd never felt close enough to the other to feel obligated too, especially as he was aware that Tom wasn't all that fond of the season, for reasons as yet unknown.

"Are you going to give me any suggestions or not? Because frankly, I don't have a clue about what to get you." .

"You're such a Gryffindor sometimes," the other said, not particularly spitefully.

Harry waited in silence, knowing the other would speak, eventually.

"You could join the Dark Side?" Tom offered, smirking rather wickedly.

"You don't _really_ want that as a Christmas present," Harry scoffed, reasonably confident. Tom's head tilted, his gaze sharpening as he too noted the self assurance on this, his wand twirling absently through his fingers.

"And what makes you think that?" he asked.

"Cause you'd get bored," Harry replied, honestly. "You enjoy seeing how much you can taint my 'innocence' -"

"-Now that sounds incredibly suggestive," Tom said, his smirk broadened. "I'm starting to see why Lestrange keeps trying to insist your fancy me." Harry spluttered.

"I do not fancy you!" he gaped. "I-what-" Tom was laughing now. "Lestrange said that?" he demanded furiously. "When? He's lying! He's-"

"Trying to turn me cold against you in a fit of awkwardness and contempt, like I normally do whenever some bitch starts drooling after me?" Tom suggested. "Yes, I am aware of that." The amusement had faded somewhat from the other's tone at the statement, but traces still remained. "But that's because he actually _does_ fancy me, and is jealous."

Harry paused, not sure he'd heard correctly, the young Dark Lord had said that in such a nonchalant, uncaring tone. Tom shot him a look, mildly entertained and half chiding.

"Salazar, you're oblivious," Tom shook his head. "You didn't know that? I'd have thought he'd have tried to punch you by now."

Harry couldn't quite get over his shock, questions coming out in quick succession.

"Lestrange's gay? As in - for you? How do you know?"

"Cause he told me," Tom said, appearing disdainful now. "Around the time I met you."

"Is that why he bloody hates me?" Harry questioned, wide eyed. "Holy crap! And you…" Harry ran a hand through his hair. "He actually told you? Is he insane? Salazar, I feel so sorry for him." Tom arched a brow at that, which he pointedly ignored. There was a moment of silence. "He _actually _told you-" Harry started again.

"Yes," Tom definitely looked entertained now. "Why, does it bother you?" the other winked.

Harry flushed, sending a curse in the Slytherin heirs direction, which Tom swiftly dodged.

"No, so shut up, you know perfectly well I don't fancy you, get over your self."

This conversation had very quickly gone wrong. He wanted to get back to Christmas presents. After a moment, Tom inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Of course _I _know you don't, relax. After all, I probably know the contents of your thoughts as well as you do," the Slytherin heir dismissed.

"Good," Harry said. There was another pause. "Hermione thinks it's the other way round," he added, revengefully. "That you fancy me."

"Deluded child," Tom remarked scathingly, before adding, "though I suppose I can see where she might get that from."

"Where could she possibly get _that _from!" Harry scowled. "We're both straight!"

"I think it's called subtext," Tom remarked. Harry made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.

"But it's _Hermione_! She's supposed to be smart!"

"'Supposed to' being the key words in that sentence," Tom replied, lip curling. Harry glared. Hermione was smart. She just wasn't always right. He looked away, feeling uncomfortable.

"So, what do you want for Christmas?" he asked, jaw clenched. Tom was silent, thoughtful.

"Come to little Hangleton with me."

A/N: 1000 REVIEWS! OH MY GOD! Thank you guys so much. You are amazing. And I feel the need to reward you (no this update isn't it, solely, though it is quick, isn't it?) 

So, here is my idea, given to me by your numerous reviews on the subject, and this chapter actually. I'm not sure on it, in fact, I'm VERY uncertain on the idea…but,…I am aware that I have a lot of slash fans in my readership who think this story would be better as slash. NO I AM NOT MAKING THIS STORY SLASH, EVER but…I could do a oneshot for Destiny's Darling that is slashy. Not heavy. I just can't write that, even if it was a guy and girl, but…slash. A strictly just that one piece slash oneshot, that could very well be terrible and disappointing cause I can't do romance and have never written slash before in my life. Does that sound like something you would be interested in? If so, give me some scenarios, and PLEASE be gentle cause the whole idea terrifies me in the thoughts of trying to write it.

Meanwhile, hope you enjoy the story. Apologies if this chapter was a bit of a filler. 


	65. Chapter 64

Chapter 64:

It was odd, he'd expected an almost immediate confrontation with Lestrange, but there wasn't one.

It was stupid of him to expect an immediate change in the other's actions due to the fact that he'd had that conversation with Tom, because obviously Lestrange didn't know about it, so therefore had no real reason to suddenly and drastically force confrontation, but still. It was disconcerting.

He'd agreed to go the Little Hangleton with Tom, though the thought scared him more than he would admit aloud. He hadn't ever expected to return there after fourth year, he hadn't wanted to, he still wasn't particularly favourable to the idea. But he was going anyway. It must have meant something to Tom to actually flat out request something like that, with the possibility of rejection.

He was in Divination class with Ron, none of his-the past Slytherins took Divination, but Draco was also there, across the class room.

He got on better with the younger Malfoy now, after the whole thing with the Rememberall.

Ron didn't.

He couldn't help but note that the blonde looked miserable beneath his pureblood mask. Harry would have been miserable if he only had Crabbe and Goyle for company too.

His head was throbbing. Really throbbing.

The strong incenses around the room were overwhelming, suffocating, and the smell of Sherry didn't help matters as Trelawney wafted around them.

He couldn't concentrate.

Ron was staring at him with concern, but he focussed on not being sick, on thinking through the fog. Trelawney was gushing at Parvati's work, her voice sounding shrill and ringing in his ears. He slumped down further. Oh god his head.

If this was Tom's doing he was going to kill the bastard.

"Harry, you alright there, mate?" Ron asked, lowly, leaning across the crystal balls cluttering their table. "You look kinda green."

"I'm fine," he said faintly, offering a smile.

Ron didn't look the slightest bit convinced.

The next second, the pain exploded into epic proportions, as if someone had just whacked a sledgehammer at his skull.

A moan slipped past his lips, his fingers carding furiously into his hair, tugging, desperate to somehow alleviate the sensation.

It faded after a moment, leaving him breathless with relief, only to start again, like waves. It was then that he realised what was happening.

Voldemort was mentally attacking the Occlumency barriers Tom had put up in his head, what seemed so long ago.

A sense of panic bursting into his chest; he wasn't ready for this, his Occlumency sucked. He could do nothing but try and ride it out The next attack almost made him pass out, and he stood up shakily. He had to get out of the classroom, while he could still think to do so.

"Potter," it was Malfoy, his face stark white with terror, his voice cracking.

"Not now," he croaked, placing a hand to his head, staggering out. It was hot and sticky, he yanked it back to see his fingers were smeared crimson.

Oh shit. His scar was bleeding. That was why Malfoy was panicking.

He could sense the other students murmuring now, sickly excited, and hear Trelawney gasp and Ron curse loudly.

"Oi, go back to your work," his best friend ordered, roughly.

The next second, someone - two people - were gripping each of his arms, keeping him upright. He could barely see, blinded by agony.

He knew it had barely even started. Voldemort was pissed. He knew now that he'd been played. Somewhere, distantly, Harry could feel relief that this confrontation would soon be over with, and a reluctant thought that Voldemort hadn't take very long to catch up to what they had done. He'd expected as much. Voldemort did still originate from Tom, and Tom was a genius.

He looked to each of his sides - Ron and…Draco? If he was in a more coherent state, he would have commented that miracles could happen, as the two sworn enemies appears to be working together.

As it was, he focussed on keeping his feet moving one in front of his other, trying not to succumb and fall into Voldemort's mind, lest he shatter the barrier completely. It was crumbling, he could tell that much, crumbling fast. The next wave had his knees buckling beneath him, as he stumbled to lean against the wall.

"Harry?" Ron's voice was high with panic.

"M'okay," he mumbled. "M-aah," he trailed off into swearing, clenching down on his tongue. There was copper in his mouth.

For a few moments, all he was aware of was coldness, the surfaces around him, pressing against his body. He was lying across the floor now, un-remembering of when exactly that had happened, but he didn't mind. The floor felt so nice and cold against his skin.

"What do we do?" Draco was repeating. "Potter - Harry - what do you want us to do?"

He groaned, curling in on himself, not replying.

He could hear screaming, tortured screams, it was only minutes later that he realised they were his own, echoed further by the corridor. A tear slipped humiliatingly from his eye, but he laughed, wildly. The barrier was still holding up, just about, and Voldemort was _angry. _They'd hit a nerve.

"Harry, please," Ron said, shaking him lightly. "We need to get you Madame Pomfrey, what's happening? Is it _him?" _

"For Salazar's sake, don't shake him - he's already in pain-" Draco snapped.

"-I know he's in bloody pain you git," Ron snarled back. "What do you suggest we do then, if you're so clever!"" Harry winced at the loud volume. Tom. He wanted Tom.

"What was that?" the next second Ron was leaning closer, almost in his face. "Riddle? What the hell do you want him for? If he's done this to you-" Ron began dangerously, protectively.

"Of course he's not doing it," Draco sneered, "Honestly, haven't you watched them together at all? Do you know what class he's got - Harry?"

More pain, so intense he could concentrate on nothing else.

He could sense that Dark presence even clearer now. Tom was good at Occlumency…but his, and as an extension Voldemort's, legilimency was even stronger. Cracks were beginning to show in his defences, small chinks that he could feel the invading mind forcing wider, into gaping holes of which to enter through. It felt like his mind was being torn apart. It was being torn apart.

He couldn't think - he - he didn't know how much time had passed - he - he didn't think there was any point getting Tom. If the paradox was failing, it wasn't like he could do anything, this was just going to be even more humiliating…and yet…

"Harry?" it was a new voice. A

familiar voice, and old voices - Ron's? - were being shoved out of the way and replaced. This new voice was soft, mercifully soft and quiet, yet so loud.

Tom. It was Tom. He'd actually come. Harry didn't understand…Tom could feel his emotions. Coming this close was going to hurt, even if it wasn't to the extent Harry was under.

Tom swore.

Somewhere a bell rang, or maybe it wasn't a bell, he couldn't tell much of anything anymore. Footsteps pounding beneath his head…or maybe that was his heartbeat.

Fingers, cold fingers, closed around his, pulling them away from his head. He struggled against it…pressing tightly helped a little, something physical to ground him from the mental invasion.

"Harry - Harry let me see," the voice was commanding, firm, and he instantly obeyed it, his fingers peeling away. He could hear horror from somewhere, but knew it wasn't the figure in front of him.

Who was it - oh - oh yes. It was Tom. Why was Tom here? This was going to hurt him too.

"You're lucky I'm not squeamish," the Slytherin heir remarked, the hands on his face became insistent…not letting him be swallowed by the peaceful blackness. "Okay, look at me, Harry, come on, that's it, let me see those glaring green eyes…" he cracked one eye open slightly, the world spinning around him.

"There we go…" Tom said, sounding just the tiniest bit patronising.

Harry wanted to say he wasn't a child, but couldn't find the words.

"If this isn't a breaking point, I don't know what is…focus on me, okay? Focus on blocking _him _out, push against, fight it, whatever feels natural, but don't let him in, are you doing that?" the voice demanded.

Who? Tom. It was still Tom. What was happening?

Oh, yes, he was forcing his way into the Potter boy's mind, the insolent child. How dare he try and make a fool of the Great Lord Voldemort. Horcrux indeed. It seemed Tom, the nuisance, had left some traces of his presence, but it was nothing that _he _couldn't overcome. He was stronger than the teenager he'd been…no.

That wasn't right.

He was Harry, wasn't he? Rage pulsed along his blood stream, affection. Tom was still blocking his mind…ha ha…Tom Riddle, the mental guardian. Hilarious.

"Tom?" he murmured.

"Who else?" Tom replied dryly. He would have replied, but the pain was peaking again.

His hands shot to his head, only to be grabbed and pinned to his side, he struggled against it, but couldn't move, surrounding by something…arms…rocking him slightly. A cold voice in his head.

So weak. So pathetic. Can't even protect his own mind…the audacity…kill someone. He didn't want to kill anyone.

"Harry, Harry please, you have to fight him…" Hermione was there too.

When had Hermione got here? She was too loud, screaming, was she screaming? Someone was screaming?

Oh. It was him. Who else was here? Who was holding him? Tom. When had Tom got here?  
Ha…Tom was actually deigning to near hug him.

"**God damn you**," a voice hissed, near his ear, the breath tickling. "**Are you even trying in there? Put a bit of effort into this you lazy slacker. You're ruining my reputation here…I probably look absolutely ridiculous…and you're bleeding all over my shirt…that's two shirts you owe me now, you do realise…**"

Harry laughed at that. The cold voice faded back slightly.

"Hey, he's stopped screaming!" Someone noticed, excitedly.

Stopped screaming? So happiness was good then? Being happy meant no more pain. He needed to be happy. What…what was happy? He was so tired.

"**Hey, hey, stop that,"** the voice was back, demanding. "**I didn't say you could take a break…don't you **_**dare **_**pass out on me. Think of all the rumours that would go around if you swooned on me, you wouldn't want that, do you?" **

No, he wouldn't. It could be quite funny though. He felt laughter swelling in his chest.  
People did seem awfully keen to think he was gay. He wasn't though…he'd liked Cho. Cho was pretty. Cho cried too much. 'Cause of Cedric.

Happy…why should he be happy when he killed Cedric? The voice in his head was growing stronger again, clawing at his memories like it was a rope ladder.

Pain. But not mental pain. A different pain. His arm. His left arm. It was burning. Burning like fire. Like Red Hot chilli Peppers. But they didn't burn. Except in your mouth.

The pain in his head was flinching away, away from the heat…except there wasn't really heat.

There was…blackness.

Why was it always him?

* * *

A/N: I hope you like the chapter. Thank you so so much for the reviews =) They seem to have got me in the habit of super fast updates, despite the fact there is work I should be doing. I will find the balance. 

The 'slash' thingy is now up as chapter 12 of Destiny's Darling, if you're interested. I hope you like that too. Please give me some feedback, first time trying that angle. I think, from the comments I've got on it so far, that has generally been quite well received. Yay! Success…are you guys looking forward to my reaching 2000 reviews now? ;)PS: Another question, another plot twist thingy question…I can go two ways with this story. Do you want me to go the way in which we'd now be half way through, or the way in which we'd be quarter of the way through? (ISH) 

**Anyway, bye. Hope you liked it. =) **


	66. Chapter 65

Chapter 65:

The Hospital Wing again. It was getting repetitive. And so was the white. At least the pain, and Voldemort, had gone. Ron and Hermione were by his bedside, and both immediately sat up straighter when they noticed he was awake.

"We really need to stop meeting like this," Harry joked, faintly, his voice cracked and rough.

"Thank goodness you're alright," Hermione said. "We were so worried. Do you need anything? Pain relief? Water-?"

"-No, it's okay," he laughed slightly. "I'm fine, really. How long was I out?"

"Only a couple of hours this time," Ron said. "It's an improvement. Riddle sodded off like norm-" Ron came to an abrupt halt as the Slytherin Heir in question walked in. "Speak of the devil," the red head muttered. "I'll go get Pomfrey."

Ron slouched away, shooting Tom a foul look, which the Slytherin heir returned with a sweet smile and a shooing gesture.

"How do you _do _that?" Hermione demanded, incredulously. "How can you possibly know when Harry will wake up to walk in only minutes after, when the rest of us have to wait?"

Harry frowned; he hadn't forced them to sit at his bedside. Hermione caught his expression, softening.

"Oh, not like that, we don't mind!" she flapped a hand dismissively, still sounding a tad exasperated, before looking at Tom again. "Well?"

"We're soul mates," Tom deadpanned, striding over to the bed. Harry caught the heavy book being thrown in the direction of his head, and flipped it over. It was the empathy guide.

"You know," he started mildly. "I'm starting to think I see why people think we're a couple when you always answer in ways like that.." Tom arched his brows.

"How astute of you, that conclusion only took you about, what, a year?" Tom replied dryly; causing Harry to glare. "But," Tom continued. "Too little too late, according to the general student population we're not a couple anymore."

Harry wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved, or something else.

"Oh?" he questioned

"Yes, thank god," Tom smirked. "Couple was too safe and domestic anyway. Apparently it's friends with benefits now…much more risqué and exciting."

Harry blinked blankly for a moment, resisting the urge to face palm.

"Well, we wouldn't want to be boring," he replied finally.

"Indeed not," Tom said "The rumour mill would have nothing to keep spinning it, and we couldn't possibly have that." The other's eyes lit up, sadistically. "I should find you a pair of handcuffs to wear. See what they do then."

Hermione made an odd squeaking noise, Pomfrey gave Tom an odd look as she bustled over, Ron seemed unnerved. Harry really did face palm.

"You have a twisted sense of humour," he muttered.

"You think I'm joking?" Tom questioned innocently. Harry sneered.

"I'm not doing handcuffs. Or a collar. Or anything else you're disturbed mind can think of. Or anything in general."

"My disturbed mind?" Tom sounded amused. "I only mentioned the handcuffs, _you_ came up with the collar. Tch, masochist."

"I'm not a masochist!" Harry protested. "Stop saying that. And if I was, I still wouldn't date you."

"Sure you would," Tom replied casually. "I'm probably completely your type. That's why the rumour mill goes so mad. If either of us was gay I'm sure we would have hooked up a long time ago."

"No, even if I was gay, that wouldn't happen," Harry argued, though he couldn't help but note that Tom seemed awfully confident in this conclusion, and not so sure himself with the way everyone seemed to keep telling himself the same thing.

He kept one eye on Pomfrey's wand as she did a bunch of medi-spells for something or other. By her lack of exclamations, he assumed it was good.

"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" Tom smirked, smug.

"What happened with Voldemort?" Harry asked instead, loudly, looking at Ron and Hermione.

Hermione had gone bright red, seeming rather flustered by their conversation. His best friend glanced at Tom at the question, uncertainly, prompting the Slytherin Heir to answer, forcing Harry to look at the other again.

Tom still looked far too entertained.

"It took you a while, but you managed to occlude eventually," the young Dark Lord said lazily. "And there was a lot of screaming, but I presume you remember that bit. Probably turned you on. You're not into bestiality too are you, in particular, snakes?"

Harry pointedly ignored the last two parts, feeling totally sick. He knew Tom was only winding him up, but still!

"I occluded?" he questioned, deciding to focus on that.

Ron seemed completely confused, while Hermione seemed to be concentrating on ignoring Tom's remarks too, spots of colour high on her cheeks. Even Pomfrey looked alarmed.

"Occluded?" Hermione asked simultaneously, looking as if she wanted to rush to the library to research the new word immediately.

"Yes," Tom inclined his head. "That is what I said about two seconds ago."

"How?" Harry asked, scowling slightly at the latter part of the confirmation. "I mean-can I do it again?"

Tom gave him a look that suggested that he'd just asked a stupid question. He gave a pointed 'just answer me' look in return.

"Yes, most likely," Tom said, "it should be easier from now on, anyhow. Remind me to send gramps a thank you note, you're lack of progress was getting irritating."

"Gramps?" Ron repeated hoarsely, seeming to guess that Tom was talking about Voldemort. Tom ignored the red head.

"Small mercies," Harry said, looking at Pomfrey as she put her wand away. "So, can I go?" he asked.

"Try and stay out this time. If you keep this up, I'll be getting you your own bed soon."

Harry blanched in horror. Perish the thought.

They were going to little Hangleton in a few days time.

A/N: I don't like this chapter. It was really difficult to write. And feels fillery, again. Sorry. The fillers should stop soon =( For a bit. Thank you for all your kind reviews and support. They are much appreciated. I'm glad you are still sticking with this story. I probably wouldn't have as a reader. I can't stand before chapter 20, and individual chapters after that.

But you know. I have a fluxuating regard for this fic. At least I'm looking forward to the next chapter! =D 

Many people have asked if I'm going to slash the actual story now, after the DD oneshot. So, to answer: no, I'm not. No more than what I do already, which isn't in my head intentional slash, but you know, squint and see it that way if it pleases you. The DD thing was just a one off reward for 1000 reviews. So yeah. Next time anything remotely resembling deliberate slash comes up, shall be on 2000 reviews (providing I get that, but you now, optimism) if you guys are still interested in that as a reward system. Feel free to request something else too. I'm open to ideas. Bye. Nervously awaiting feedback - The Fictionist. 

At least I'm still updating fast…?


	67. Chapter 66

Chapter 66:

It was about a week before Christmas when Harry and Tom snuck out of the castle to go to Little Hangleton.

Harry had eventually decided on getting Hermione a necklace with lots of protective charms woven into it, including those he'd added himself. He could only cross his fingers and hope she liked it.

He was a tangle of nerves, a mess that he couldn't smoothen out or undo no matter how much he struggled with it. The thought of Little Hangleton froze the blood within his veins to crimson ice. Tom seemed subdued too, his eyes cast in darkness. Their bickering had faded into nothingness, non existent.

"So, how are we getting there?" Harry asked quietly.

"I've organised a Portkey," Tom said.

Harry swallowed slightly. Right. Portkey. Because that held no similarity to last time at all. He didn't reply, not trusting himself to speak, simply nodding in acknowledgment. His heart pounded.

"It better not be a bloody cup," he tried finally, weakly, anything to break the silence. Tom's lips curved fractionally, but there was no other response.

Harry clenched his fingers around his wand, but reached out to take the portkey when Tom offered it. It was a packet of muggle playing cards. With a yank at the navel, and a spinning sensation, they were gone.

Harry landed with a thud, spread-eagled gracelessly on the ground, the smell of grass in his nostrils. He dreaded looking up, irrationally terrified that they would be the graveyard.

"Do get up, you look like an idiot," Tom murmured. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, mentally trying to steel himself like he'd been doing all week. It wasn't working.

Gathering the scraps of his Gryffindor bravery, he opened his eyes, lifting his head.

It was the sodding graveyard.

Was Tom doing this on _purpose? _

His muscles stiffened.

"Lovely spot you've picked," he commented, scrambling warily to his feet.

"It's the only place where we wouldn't be seen by the villagers, if they were looking," Tom replied, without inflection, though those eyes studied him ruthlessly, as if picking all the secrets out of his head. "We would have come here anyway."

Harry's chest felt tight, and he plunged his hands deep into his pockets to hide the way they curled and uncurled into relentless fists. Shaking. His jaw was clenched, his eyes flicking around the scene.

Noting difference. Searching for differences. Needing them. Finding only similarities.

What was he doing here? Why was he putting himself through this? Nausea rolled in his stomach. He knew why. Tom. It was always Tom. Of course it was for him. The bastard.

Seemingly satisfied that he wasn't going to faint or anything, Tom's gaze darted away from his, his footsteps careful as he wandered around the graveyard.

Harry felt a lurching in his gut.

This was Tom's Godric's Hollow. This was where his parents were buried…the parents he'd grown up to _murder. _

Harry trailed after him, silent, desperately wondering why he was here.

Why had Tom asked him to come?

They stopped in front of the grave of Tom Riddle Sr. Harry had to look away, able to remember distinctly being tied to it…the cauldron in front of him, his leg aching, his arm cut. Tom was a sadist for bringing him here. He knew-oh god.

Tom _didn't _know. Tom knew it was a _graveyard_, but Harry had avoided going too far into the specifics. He didn't know it was this graveyard. Shit.

He struggled to push down the panic, try not to hyperventilate. He was not going to collapse. Not now. He'd never told Tom because the times when they talked about it was early, when he wasn't sure of Tom, only aware that he might not have been pure evil.

Of course he hadn't completely spilled his guts. That came later, with other things, never this. The wound had always been far too raw. He'd talked about the graveyard, but in paranoia he hadn't gone into detail about the ritual so Tom wouldn't know it was this graveyard.

He'd seen flashes of it in Harry's memories, and Harry knew Tom could piece it together in seconds if he actually thought about it.

But Tom…Tom was distracted by his own demons.  
Harry was just here for company, for…he didn't know…moral support or something.

He was not going to screw up an extremely rare show of trust and vulnerability, or clear progress, with the other by throwing up over his shoes or something. Bile burned his throat…and Tom was speaking.

"I was always planning to kill him, I guess I did it…do it," Tom said softly. Harry snapped to attention. Tom glanced at him, before back at the stone. "I came here instead, to this time…"

He seemed to be talking more to himself than Harry, soft murmurings, musings. The other smiled, thinly, lost in thought.

Harry couldn't help but feel torn between revulsion and _fascination.  
_It was rare to hear Tom talk so openly about his past, in all the times Harry had known him he'd only ever made allusions, and references, small things.

It was strange, in a way, that Tom knew so much about his life and he knew so little in return…and yet…it felt like he knew Tom regardless, the person he was now, mysterious history regardless. Maybe he was just reading too much into it.

But at the same time…Tom was telling him now, no blackmail involved. That had to say something. He only wished Tom wasn't telling him _here. _

"You really hate him, don't you, your father?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Tom said, his voice so terribly cold. "I do." The next time he spoke, his voice had softened again. "When I was child I used to _dream _that he'd come and take me away from the orphanage. That he'd be like me, that there was _someone _like me. It was stupid of me, really."

Harry shook his head, cautious to concentrate on Tom, not the place they were in.

"That's not stupid," he replied. Tom looked at him, something desperate in his gaze. "I used to wish so hard that some relative of mine would come and take me away from the Dursleys…I'd spend all my nights praying for it, trying to imagine what they'd be like…or what it would be like to have a proper family…" he trailed off, awkward.

"Never happens," Tom finished bitterly, his magic spiking suddenly, lashing furiously out at the grave before them. "_He_ was disappointment. A _muggle._ He left my mother immediately when he found out what she was, never looked back, never even bothered to look for his own son."

Tom looked at him, the shadows almost tangible upon him.

"I want to rip his heart out," the Slytherin heir declared.  
Harry forced himself not to look away, near holding his breath. "

Muggles, disgusting creatures, "Tom muttered, sharply seeming to dismiss the moment. "They're pathetic, the lot of them, they can't stand the thought of anything different."

"Not all of them," Harry said, anger visible in his voice for the first time. He knew he should have been more patient with that comment…but despite his best efforts, the location was getting at him, biting away at his tolerance, increasing his stress levels by the second.

Tom didn't seem to be bothered by it, merely giving him a pitying look. Again, Harry couldn't help but wonder why Tom had asked him along on this _trip_.

A moment later, Tom looked at him again, intently this time, head tilting slightly, as if only just noticing him properly.

Harry resisted the urge to freeze... ,anaging to attract Tom's attention, especially when he was already so distracted, was not something he'd planned on doing.

He'd banked on avoiding it. actually. It was the only way he could get through this night.

Tom was studying him, trying to assess what had him more stressed out than normal, before he looked around the graveyard, as if to look for clues.

_Penny in the air._

Harry could feel the smallest confusion, then see the recognition, the comprehension of what was troubling him, the shock. T

om's gaze snapped back to him, demanding.

_Penny drops._

* * *

A/N: This actually will be my last superfast update in a while. They will slow down now. Sorry. But I'm glad you're all liking the story. Please review; I'm in a bad mood and need cheering up. 

Thank you for all the reviews you've given me so far. =)

Oh: CHALLENGE: 

A reviewer, Everlasting Purple, gave me a review that said this - "What you could do if you wanted to would be to make almost a contest type of thing where your fans write write slash for your story and send it to you for you to post the one or ones you like best. Or people could send you idea they would like to write and you could them permission to write it and post it themsleves." This gave me an idea. By all means, do the original thing that Everlasting Purple suggested, I'd go a long with it, but anyway, my idea was…do the next chapter/bit with Tom confronting Harry about Little Hangleton. =) I would LOVE to read it. You don't have to, but…I think it would be awesome. I'd post the winner on DD, if that was okay with the writer. Send it to me in a PM or something.

I think it would fun, and it is essentially just for fun, because I will still post my version as the next chapter…but *shrug.* Any takers? *HOPEFUL SMILE.*


	68. Chapter 67

Chapter 67:

"This is the graveyard," Tom stated flatly. Harry looked back innocently, trying for a smile.

"Yes, Einstein," he said brightly. "This is a graveyard. Well done, you've finally got that after-"

"Do _not _play dumb with me, Harry, it doesn't suit you," the Slytherin Heir said dangerously, his eyes glinting as he stalked forwards. Without conscious decision, Harry backed up, trying to put space between them. "You know perfectly well what I meant."

Harry was silent, the nausea swelling further in his stomach, relentless. He struggled to keep his breathing even, calm, but failed as his escape route was blocked by another headstone, and before he could dodge sideways and continue his retreat, Tom was _right in front of him. _

He immediately looked down at the floor, at their shoes, close together, as if the sight was fascinating to him.

"This is the Graveyard," Tom repeated, softly.

"Back off, Tom," he warned. "I'm here, aren't I? What more do you-" his words came to an abrupt halt as Tom's fingers yanked his jaw upwards, forcing his eye contact.

"**This is **_**the **_**graveyard."**

** "**Yes it's the graveyard," Harry snapped. "Did you really need my words to confirm that?"

He tried to tug his chin away, feeling claustrophobic and hemmed in, only for the young Dark Lord to tighten his grip, before letting go.

Harry knew that the grip would return if he tried to physically duck away or evade the conversation, if his attention strayed.

As if that would happen.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Tom demanded. Harry shrugged.

"Didn't come up," he dismissed. "What does it even matter-" he began.

"Matter? Of course it matters," Tom spat. "Look at you. You look like you're going to faint, or throw up."

"Best stay back so it's not over you then, isn't it?" he returned. Images flashed behind his eyes. "Actually, that's not even a joke, I will throw up on you if you don't back up."

He felt dizzy, the world hazy. A hand splayed across his chest, across his heart, and he looked down, feeling the heat of Tom's fingers radiating through the thin material of his shirt.

"Your heart is racing," Tom murmured, catching his gaze. "Pupils dilated…"

"It's cause I fancy you," Harry deadpanned, scrabbling for the threads of his self control, causing Tom to shoot him a glare, before the expression softened barely visibly.

"Stubborn," he murmured. "Always so stubborn. Why are you even here?" Harry arched his brows questioningly, confused.

What a stupid question; maybe the pressure of not falling into a full blown panic attack was making him miss what Tom was really asking. Or maybe Tom was being uncharacteristically obtuse and taking a course in asking the bleeding obvious. He was going to go with the latter.

"You asked me to come," he said. "Why, do you want me to leave you in peace again?"

Tom stared at him. Harry wasn't sure if the utter bewilderment he felt was Tom's, his own, or both of theirs combining to an even greater state of bewilderment. The end was result that he felt very bewildered either way.

"No- I know I asked you to come, I'm not an idiot for Salazar's sake! - I meant why did you accept? If you knew-" Tom's fingers dug momentarily into his chest, making a kind of waving gesture, as if that was supposed to somehow explain something - "was liable to happen. You freaking out."

Oh. OH. Harry suddenly felt extremely awkward. He wasn't freaking out as such. He was…never mind, he was moving on to the other part of the sentence.

How to explain that to a psychopath? Even one as well versed in acting, emotions and pretending humanity as Tom was. Oddly, the situation made him feel slightly less sick. He presumed it was disbelief suspending, or whatever.

Screw it.

He wasn't going to explain the fact that he might possibly maybe sometimes actually care about Tom. Especially not to Tom. He'd never hear the end of it. And Tom wouldn't give a damn for it. And.

He was rambling. In his head. This was reaching new levels of ridiculous.

"Think about it," he said finally. "If you don't know I'm not going to tell you."

Tom frowned at his answer, his head tilting to one side with a feline fluidity. Harry could tell he didn't get it. He really wasn't going to spell it out.

"Can you stop nearly pinning me against a headstone now?" he muttered, uncomfortably. "The flashbacks aren't the most pleasant."

Tom's gaze flicked down to his hand still pressed against Harry's heart, taking in their close proximity. He seemed surprised that his appendage was still there.

"Answer properly then," Tom replied after a moment. Harry suppressed a sigh.

"Ask Lestrange - actually no, not Lestrange, he'd twist it in his warped head and get the wrong end of the broomstick - ask Zevi why I would come with you because you asked me to, to a place that holds no fond memories for me."

"I could just read your mind," Tom said, studying him. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Or you could just ask Zevi. Or Hermione…no, not Hermione. Ask someone, anyone, who doesn't think we're both in love with each other and they'll tell you."

"Why can't you?" Tom questioned, beginning to look suspicious.

"Because I'm a guy," he muttered.

"What does your gender have to do with anything? Unless you're…" a look of dawning crept across the others features. "Referring to something stereotypically feminine, such as emotions." Tom appeared positively fascinated now. It wasn't as if the twit didn't know about social graces, he had them in spades when he wanted.

"Was there anywhere else you wanted to visit here?" Harry questioned, falling back on the old tactic of ignoring his problems and hoping they would drift away when he wasn't looking.

He pushed Tom's hand out of the way, moving past the other only for Tom to seize his arm and pull him to a stop.

"You don't actually fancy me, do you?" Tom questioned, warily.

Harry would have laughed if it wasn't so sodding awkward for him.

"No," he snapped. "For Merlin's sake, get over yourself! I just said don't ask anyone who thinks -why would you even-bloody hell," he threw his hands up in frustration, shrugging out Tom's grip for what had to be the third time that night. "I consider you one of my friends, okay? And you asked me to come. That's all there is to it. Salazar. You're supposed to be a genius."

Tom had gone very still at the proclamation.

Frozen.

Those intense dark eyes were fixed on Harry's face, unmoving. Harry resisted the urge to clear his throat. Or remark about the weather.

It was official. He hated this Graveyard.

Tom wasn't reacting.

At all.

It was unnerving.

He'd run away, but Tom had the portkey. Sodding hell. It was like asking Cho to the Yule Ball all over again…and that was a bad analogy too.

"Okay…" he said, with a fake decisiveness. "I'll be on the hill outside the graveyard. Come get me when we're leaving." He strode past the graves, the nausea was building again, his eyes locked on anything but where he was.

He was at the gate when he heard footsteps behind him, a spark of magic pulling the gate before him shut before he could slip through it.

He turned around again, working on keeping his features expressionless.

"Are we leaving already?" he asked, automatically.

"That's the second time you've described us as friends," Tom stated.  
Oh the fun of holding conversations with misanthropic psychopath…

"I honestly haven't kept count," he replied.

"The first time, I just thought you wanted to know what was in the rememberall," Tom continued giving him a scrutinising look. "But…friendship…the mutual feelings of trust and affection and the behaviour that typify relationships between friends…" Tom sounding like he was thinking to himself, deeply.

"That sounds like a dictionary definition," Harry said, teasing, trying to put them back onto normal grounds. Well, normal for them. This whole situation was very un normal.

"It is," Tom said dismissively, still studying him. Harry raised his brows at the response. Tom folded his arms.

"I suppose we can be friends," the Slytherin Heir said finally. "We mutually have low feelings of trust, and you're likeable enough when you're not being annoying."

Harry blinked.

"I-what?" he asked.

"Yes, we can be friends, of a sort," Tom said, sounding as if he were bestowing Harry an honour.

Harry was, meanwhile, pretty sure that he hadn't actually asked Tom 'will you be friends with me?' or anything in the duration of the conversation. He thought they already were friends? 'Of a sort'.

"Oh," he said, absently thinking he should give a more eloquent reply. "Okay. Cool."  
What just happened?

Tom stared at him for a moment, before abruptly turning and walking back in the graveyard.

"That doesn't mean I'll catch you if you pass out from traumatisation," he called over his shoulder. "Stay out there and do something useful - go to the village and get me a coffee."

Harry gaped at the other's back, before quickly averting his gaze as he caught sight of gravestones.

The village actually sounded like a good idea at the moment.

Tom could get his own freaking coffee though.

* * *

_A/N: It's an update? An update, they cry, I wasn't expecting one! Wow, thanks Fictionist. Oh…that chapter was rather…er…anticlimactic wasn't it? Jeez. I preferred eos9's version…could they maybe take over? _

_Um. Yeah. I think I'm slightly hyper. *Dazzling grin.* Don't know why. Better than a bad mood though, ja? Thankies for all the reviewsies, they makes me smilies. - =D_

_Tch. I should be concentrating on doing something productive and useful in my life. Oh well. I'm going to go now. Byeeee. _

_PS: Credit for the opening lines goes to PintoNess…_

_PPS: Seriously, go check out "Fighting Fate" by eos9...:)_

_PPPS: I love my challenges. So I'm going to expand it to this: write any scene, slash or non slash but not a lemon, between Tom and Harry for and the winner is posted on Destiny's Darling unless you want to post it yourself. If so, I'll have to think of another prize? A request for Destiny's Darling? Well, get back to me. _

_Toodles. I hope you liked the update. _


	69. Chapter 68

Chapter 68:

Harry was sitting at an odd little café in the village, sipping a strong shot of black coffee, when Tom entered some time later.

The other had the slightest exasperation on his features as he strode over to the table Harry was sitting at.

"I thought I told you to come back, I've been looking everywhere for you," Tom said, dropping into the seat across from him. "And you didn't even get me a coffee," the Slytherin Heir added, eyeing the steaming cup Harry was drinking from.

Harry arched his brows.

"Actually, you told me to stay out the graveyard and do something useful," he remarked unbothered, shaking his head. "You really should work on that memory of yours." Tom stared at him flatly for a moment. Harry grinned. "And I never promised to get you a coffee…go get one yourself."

"Some friend you are," Tom scoffed. Harry's grin merely broadened at that. He felt a lot better down in the village, where it could be any place in the world, rather than the Graveyard of his worst nightmares.

"So, did you find what you were here for?" he asked after a moment. Tom surveyed him for a moment.

"Perhaps," he replied. Harry waited for elaboration, but none came.

"What were you here for, anyway?" he questioned, trying to sound casual. Tom's smirk told him exactly how well he succeeded at that.

"To see my father's grave," came the response. Harry was silent, regarding the other thoughtfully. "It bothers you, doesn't it?" Tom asked, leaning forward slightly over the table.

"What? The Graveyard? Again with the memory, because we've already covered that," Harry replied, with a forced easiness.

"No, my words," Tom said, no trace of joking in his tone anymore. "My desire to murder-"

"-Keep your voice down," Harry hissed. "There are people in here who could hear you and get the wrong idea-"

"-The wrong idea?" Tom's lip curled up fractionally. "What, that I've killed people? Would kill people? Enjoy killing people? Let me tell you a little secret, sweetheart, that's not the wrong idea."

Harry wanted to look away, avoid those intense, soul searching eyes watching him intently, but couldn't quite manage it.

"But, by all means," Tom continued, "we can take this outside if it pleases you. There's a restaurant up the road if you're interested."

"You're taking me out to dinner to talk about your psychopathic tendencies?" Harry was pretty sure his voice came out somewhat strangled, and at the very least highly incredulous.

"No," Tom said. "I'm taking you out to dinner because I'm hungry and rather enjoy the sensation of not being under constant scrutiny from the general student population. The conversation will happen anyway sometime, however much you cringe from it."

Harry felt a reluctant smile tug at his lips at that response.  
It was just so typical…but that didn't change the fact the conversation was not going to happen anyway.

Mockingly, Tom offered him a hand to pull him up.

"Indulge me," he said. "We're friends aren't we?"

Damn.

Somehow, Harry did end up sitting in a restaurant with Tom. Thankfully, without candles or something equally…romantic.

"You do know you're paying, right?" Harry asked, "cause I didn't bring any money with me." He hadn't felt the need to; he'd been under the impression that they were just going to the Graveyard.

Tom waved a dismissive hand.

"I can always imperio the owner to let us dine for free."

Harry glared, immediately starting to rise from his seat, only for his left arm to yank him back down again.

"Oh relax, Golden boy," Tom drawled. "I'm paying. Order what you like and don't be so morally uptight."

"You know, you really need to stop doing that arm thing," Harry said. Tom merely arched his brows, looking amused.

"What purpose were you thinking I was going to use it for? A conversation partner when you're sulking, perhaps?"

"Friends aren't supposed to try and control the other for their own nefarious ends," Harry pointed out.

"Well that wasn't in the definition," Tom said, sounding mildly perturbed.

"Try a different dictionary," Harry suggested.

"Or we could just burn the dictionary to make a fire," Tom replied. "Much more fun. Besides, I never said I'd be a good friend to you….what are you having? The waitress is coming over?"

Harry quickly looked down at the menu, hastily trying to find the cheapest meal on the menu.

"Er, fish soup," he said, panicking, not sure why he was telling Tom this.

It was lame, but he'd never actually done the whole restaurant thing before…he'd never had need to, and the Dursley's had certainly never taken him. What type of fish was it-oh god…it was halibut. Ew.

His nose wrinkled slightly. He should have checked that.

"What can I get you two boys?" the Muggle women asked cheerfully, flipping her brown hair over one shoulder, eyeing them both as she arrived at the table. "Are you ready to order?" Tom's eyes flared briefly with distaste, but when he replied there was nothing but charm.

"Two vegetable Lasagnes and the house wine," Tom said, confidently. Harry's head whipped to stare at him.

"Oh…" the waitress said. "Can I see your ID? It's policy to check."

To Harry's shock Tom simply handed over a card, meeting the women's gaze squarely.

"A beautiful women like you, should I be offended or flattered that you don't think I'm eighteen yet?" Tom questioned, smiling. The waitress blushed slightly, looking dazed.

"I don't know," she replied, handing back the ID. "What do you think? Two vegetable lasagnes and a house wine coming up."  
With a coy look behind her, the waitress sauntered off again. Tom pocketed the card with disdain.

Harry gave him a look, demanding explanation.

"You hate halibut," Tom deadpanned. "Where were we?"

"You have a fake ID?" Harry gaped. Tom favoured him with a pitying expression.

"No, it was a blank piece of card. I used a non verbal compulsion." Harry blinked.

"A compul - you compelled her?" he yelped.

"Keep your voice down," Tom said, smirking, "there are people in here who might get the wrong idea."

"You can't just do that!" Harry hissed.

"I just did," Tom said. "Do you need a new glasses prescription? Anyway, I told you to stop being so morally uptight. It's getting annoying. _Relax_ and _enjoy_. You're ruining my good mood." Harry didn't loosen his tense posture. Tom rolled his eyes. "It didn't hurt her. Go down the denial route and pretend it was a fake ID if that doesn't upset your delicate sensibilities so much. Honestly…"

Harry narrowed his eyes, but when Tom simply looked at him flatly, completely remorseless, he decided to just drop it for now. He supposed it had been innocent enough.

He looked away, pretty sure he should be making small talk or something now.

He hated small talk. Especially with Tom, because he knew the other found it to be a fairly boring exercise too.

At the feeling of being watched, he looked in Tom's direction again, not remotely surprised to find that gaze drilling into his skull, as if searching for a way to dissect him. If he cared to think about, that probably wasn't socially acceptable either. Who cared.

They did end up talking, Harry being careful to keep the conversation away from anything resembling _that _conversation, while Tom regarded his attempts with an irritatingly knowing countenance.

The Slytherin Heir didn't force the topic though, which surprised him. Harry supposed he still hadn't fully learned to predict Tom's reaction to any given scenario, he probably never would…that was made the whole relationship friendship thingy so thrilling.

Salazar.

What if he _was _a masochist?

He was glad for the release when the food came, giving him the excuse to avoid appraisal.

Tom poured the wine with a small smirk of contentment, before raising his and tipping it towards Harry. He wasn't sure if the action was mocking or not, like the hand had been.

"To old memories and new," Tom said.

Impulsively, Harry returned with a toast of his own, wondering absently if he'd regret it, but unable to care.

"To burning the dictionary."

Tom grinned.

It was much later that they arrived back at Hogwarts, admittedly just a teensy, wincey bit not sober.

Okay, maybe a smidgen more than a that a teensy wincey bit, but not much.

He could walk straight, and think relatively coherently. Everything was just rather pleasantly buzzed.

The teachers strode out across the grounds to meet them.

"Where on earth have you been?" Snape demanded, face twisted into a snarl, looking ready to seize Harry by the collar and throttle him.

Hermione came running out, flinging her arms around him, despite how the proffessor's tried to stop her.

"It's Mr Weasley…he's been attacked by a giant snake!"

Crap.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. Hope you like this one. =) Will probably update this AN when I'm not in a mad dash…but I thought you might like a post now? :D 


	70. Chapter 69

BEWARE! I HAVE WRITER'S BLOCK!

Chapter 69:

Harry's heart dropped into his stomach, dread clawing a home in his gut.

It took a few moment's for Hermione's words to actually sink in, before he stared demandingly at the professors, too shocked to speak.

Shouldn't he have already known this? Because of the connection? It was a snake, it had to be a Voldemort.

They were watching him pityingly, though Snape was as unreadable as ever.

He swallowed a lump in his throat, glancing at Tom, not sure what he was seeking in the nuances of the other's countenance. He looked back at McGonnagal.

"B-but he's going to be okay, isn't he?" he stammered. "I mean…how did this happen? When? Are the Weasley's alright? Can I see them?"

"Harry," McGonnagal began, gently.

"The Weasley's wish for some time alone to mourn," Snape deadpanned.

Time to…shit. No. No. No. It couldn't be…Mr Weasley couldn't be…Hermione dissolved into a fresh flood of tears. McGonnagal shot Snape a scandalised expression, presumably for having broken the news in such a manner.

"He's dead?" Harry gaped. "But he can't be…there must be some kind of mistake - when?" he demanded.

"Earlier tonight," McGonnagal said softly. "Mr Potter, I am sorry," she began.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't possibly be happening. He should have been able to prevent this, somehow, seen it at least. He looked at Snape, knowing that the dour man would give him a straight answer.

"Would he have lived if someone had known about the attack and raised awareness about in earlier? I presume it took you a while to find him?"

Harry hated how clinical his voice sounded, how void of anything.

Snape's gaze sparked with something incomprehensible, before the Potions Master nodded. Harry nodded tightly, grateful for the honesty.

"Perhaps you should go sober up now, Mr Potter," Snape said. "Mr Riddle."

He nodded again, and McGonnagal squeezed his shoulder. Hermione was still sobbing, and she clung to him awkwardly.

He didn't know how to comfort her, what to say, how to make it better. It was his fault. All of his stupid fault. He had to get Tom to finish taking down the block, the paradox had already weakened it to the state that Voldemort slipped through when he wanted to, or when Harry was asleep. He couldn't afford to not know about these things. Mr Weasley was dead…and he'd been sitting in a restaurant having a good time.

The wine threatened to climb back out of his throat.

He arrived back at the Slytherin Common room some time later, just wanting to crawl up into a ball and die.

The journey had been made in silence, though he'd felt Tom's gaze on him as sharp as needles. The dungeons were empty, everyone having already gone to bed.

He couldn't bring himself to follow them. He didn't deserve sleep. He didn't want sleep. It would hurt more when the barrier was taken down, but that was his penance.

"I want you to take down the Occlumency barrier," he said softly, continuing that thought aloud, staring into the fire. "And I'm discontinuing the Mind Arts lessons. God, this is all my _fault!_"

"What, that the blood traitor died?" Tom questioned dispassionately. Harry whipped around to look at the other, who raised an eyebrow.

"He's not a blood traitor," Harry snarled. "Arthur Weasley was a great man!"

"Doesn't stop him being a blood traitor and a Muggle lover, and neither does being dead," Tom shrugged. "On the contrary, if he can't even protect himself from a snake-"

Harry didn't think, lunging forward in attack, lips drawn back in an almost feral manner. They were tumbling to the Common Floor, fighting and flailing and cursing and…he was pinned down to the ground, Tom straddling him with an unreadable expression, eyes glinting.

"Physically and emotionally compromised, as well as drunk…not a good combination, darling," Tom remarked. "

"Get off me," Harry spat. "I swear to god you better-"

"Actually I'm fine here until you calm down," Tom interrupted, watching him as if he were some particularly interesting specimen in a lab.

"Calm down?" Harry breathed, furiously, trying to lash out again. "I just found out he's…" he choked on his words, closing his eyes briefly.

"Dead?" Tom offered, in a helpful tone of voice. Harry flinched.

"Stop it," he warned, desperately.

"Or what?" Tom dared, smirking slightly. "In case you hadn't noticed I'm the one in control here."

"Can't you give it a rest!" Harry snapped, his voice cracking slightly. "I don't care, alright! He's dead and it's my fault-"

"-for someone who believes in fairness as much as you," Tom mused, "you're rather arrogant." Harry spluttered, numb, unsure of whether he'd heard right. The fuzziness of alcohol was no longer appreciated.

"Excuse me?" he demanded. His head hurt with this conversation.

"For someone who believes in fairness as much as you," Tom repeated. "You're rather arrogant. Really, what on earth gives you the right to claim credit for Voldemort's actions?"

Harry stared, wide eyed, at the Slytherin Heir.

"I-" he began, knowing he probably sounded ridiculous. "But I should have been able to stop it," he said.

Tom tilted his head, the picture of scepticism.

"All without knowing it was happening, I imagine."

"I should have known!" Harry retorted, angry. Tom just didn't get it! "I have a bloody mind link with the-mmmph." His words cut to a halt as Tom pressed a hand over his mouth, presumably to shut him up. He glared. What the hell?

"So can you tell what I'm thinking now then?" Tom questioned.

On the outside, he still seemed amused, but Harry was quickly coming to note that any entertainment Tom had been showing since they entered the common room was very much on an exterior level.

He realised that by Tom's actions Tom wasn't entirely sober himself.

This was not going to be good.

Tom released his mouth, fingers curling into his hair instead. Harry sighed.

"I'm not having this conversation with you now," he said, trying frantically to be reasonable rather than succumb to the urge to rage and scream and rail at the world. At Tom. "I've had too much to drink and I…" he trailed off. Am grieving. In shock. Something. He didn't know. All he knew was that he was going to strike out at the person closest to him, and, currently, that was Tom.

Tom was a genius. He had to know that. He had to…oh.

"Why are you trying to make me lash out at you?" Harry questioned. "And skip the cryptic part because I'm too sodding tired to deal with it."

"Because I'm a sadist and I enjoy watching you suffer," Tom said lazily. "Your reactions are highly entertaining." Harry narrowed his eyes. Tom sighed, sounding long suffering, tipping his head back. "I'm _drunk_, Potter. I've had at least half a bottle of wine in pretty much one go, and, honestly, we both know perfectly well that once you're actually thinking coherently you are going to clam up like a mute clam and bottle everything up until it kills you…and while watching you break into a million pretty little pieces would be interesting, I'm not done playing with you yet. Satisfied with that response?"

Harry blinked.

He blamed the alcohol and the numb denial in his veins for what happened next.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, I know, crappy update but I'm in a crappy mood and feeling blocked. Blah. I hope you manage to enjoy the update anyway. Thanks for the reviews =) Much appreciated. Again, I don't mind if you email me 'what happens next' - I will post the best one on Destiny's Darling if you're interested. In fact, I challenge you...your feedback is always very much inspiring.

Remember to check out "Fighting Fate" by Eos9, t'is awesome. E writes them better than I do ;) like, genuinely, in terms of thought process, they do. I'm sure Eos9 would appreciate the review too.

Adios! Here's to an upward shift in quality…

PS: Next chapter is Tom's POV ;) Curious?


	71. Chapter 70

Chapter 70: (Tom's POV)

Harry was an enigma.

Maybe that was what he liked about the other, he wasn't really sure what it was.

It was easy to dismiss his fascination as being due to the horcrux, to rationalise and justify everything that made Harry quite so significant to him…while he was away from the other boy at any rate.

When he was near him, everything just shifted slightly, and he couldn't even dream of batting the pseudo Gryffindor aside like one of his followers.

It was uncharacteristic.

He was obsessive, he always had been, and he liked to collect trophies. Harry was just a trophy, a prized, inexplicable, maddening trophy, the latest obsession.

Except when he wasn't.

The times when he wasn't were starting to claw inch by bloody inch past the times when he was just a pet, a toy. He'd never intended that to happen, and maybe he could still break the whole thing off…except that he couldn't do that either.

The only way Harry was getting separated from him was if Harry forcibly walked away, and Tom wasn't planning on letting that happen any time soon. He'd break the other boy's legs to prevent it.

"You're crying," he murmured, feeling an unnerving sense of déjà vu as the words slipped past his lips, before he himself had noted the truth of the statement.

Killing curse eyes snapped to him, startled, before a hand jerked against his own grip as Harry tried to move it to brush away the droplets of grief that clung so stubbornly to his lashes.

Tom's head tilted to one side. It was odd how someone so fragile could be so _s__trong _simultaneously_, _and Harry was strong, the strongest person that Tom knew….and yet, so easily broken.

He could have snapped and unravelled the boy easily enough, it was what he was good at, so why did he so often go against his nature and try and stitch the boy together instead? He experimented, he toyed and he plucked at Harry's flaws as if they were violin strings for his muse to tease out a tragedy, but he always stopped on the brink of shattering Harry completely.

Then he did some delicate fixing.

He repressed an inaudible sigh with the smoothness of a lifetime of masks, moving off Harry, tugging him up into a sitting position as he did, and pulling him back to lean against him.

It wasn't a hug, that sounded too mushy, but it was something like that. Harry immediately stiffened, seemingly mortified, trying to pull away, but he only tightened his grip in response.

Perhaps it was inappropriate to feel amused at this situation, but he was. Harry's emotional turmoil was amusing, and oh so interesting. How could one person possibly feel so much?

"No, no, let me go," Harry was panicking. "Tom, let me go, you're not supposed to be-"

"-comforting you?" he offered, arching a brow, though the other couldn't see it. "Because you killed the blood traitor and want to dwell in heroic angst?"

He hid a smile-smirk into Harry's hair when the other shuddered. Okay, so maybe he wasn't completely perfect at the stitching people back together thing, but needle and thread weaving in and out of your skin was supposed to hurt. He wouldn't even attempt it if he didn't get some gratification from the painstaking process.

He wrapped his arms tighter, leaning to Harry's ear to whisper in an indulgence that only the intoxicated could manage.

"**Haven't you figured out by now that I'm never letting you go?" **he hissed. Harry went still in his arms, completely frozen, before he turned boneless, accepting it.

"You're strangely affectionate when you're wasted," Harry said, staring morosely into the fire in front of them. Stupid…it wasn't the alcohol, it was _Harry. _

"And more easily offended, if you're thinking of continuing that line of thought," he returned. Harry gave a weak, choking laugh.

"You're a bastard," he muttered. "Sometimes I wonder why I like you." It seems he wasn't the only with lowered verbal inhabitations.

He kept quiet, rather curious for the other to continue.

He knew Harry's reactions like the back of his hand, knew exactly which strings to tweak and pull if he needed, which buttons to press, but he couldn't fully say he understood _why_ Harry was like that. He'd just taken the utmost care to memorise every detail. He could tell when Harry's mind caught up with his tongue, because the chosen one tensed once more.

"But not like that. As a friend. Cause we're friends. I'm rambliing - shut up! Remind me never to go drinking with you again…I should go to bed. Will you please take down the mental barrier?"

Stubborn. Always so stubborn, even when he was drunk.

"Sorry darling," he replied, not in the slightest bit apologetic. "You're emotionally compromised and thus, I will not take anything you say as true."

Harry was silent, head lolling back into his shoulder, hair tickling his neck. He didn't move. He was still waiting, and Harry would take soon enough start talking, like he'd never concede enough to do if he wasn't completely messed up in the head at that moment, exhausted and more than a little bit tipsy.

It wasn't taking advantage, it was using his resources.

"I'm always emotionally compromised around you, so you should just do it anyway," Harry retorted, before pausing again.

Tom bit back a grin. Was he now?

Harry tried to disentangle himself again, but was once more prevented from the action.

"Tom-" he began, helplessly, before falling silent. "You really want to talk about Mr-_him _now?" Finally.

"Yes," he murmured. "It will do you good."

And it would, he'd been serious when he'd told the other bottling everything up was going to kill him…and no one was killing Harry except him.

It wasn't that he actually cared…well, not much…it was that something about Harry again.

_Harry made him better. _

Somewhere along the line, the stupid twit had actually succeeded in changing something in him. It wasn't a visible something, not really, but it was that shift. That tiny, miniscule shift. He hated it.

Harry sighed, playing absently with the fingers that kept him trapped. Tom's eyes widened slightly at the sensation. Normally it was him initiating physical contact, though he was rather less tentative than the Gryffindor.

"I just can't believe he's gone," Harry said finally. "And I don't know…I feel so guilty…god, I sound like I'm on a psychiatrics couch…" Tom's lips twitched slightly.

"If it eases you any, I'm not taking notes." Not written ones anyway.

"Not written ones you mean," Harry replied immediately, causing him to blink, before responding.

"You can try and avoid this conversation, along with other conversations, all you want, but they're going to happen sometime," he said, not sure if he's words were fond or warning.

Both. Always both, with Harry it never was as black and white as he'd like to make it.

"That sounds ominous," Harry muttered, almost sinking into him. The alcohol was draining the energy from the already exhausted half snake, half lion,. "But can we not have it now - _please? - _I can't, I, it's too," Harry fell silent.

He studied the other for a moment, noting the tinge of begging in Harry's tone. It alarmed him, though he made no sign of this outwardly.

Harry did many things to evade and generally get out of things he didn't like; he baited, he fled, he offered distractions and bargains or simply remained stubbornly silent, sometimes he even flirted in a manner of speaking, but he _never _begged.

Did Harry really care about that man so much? That was pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.

Still, he supposed he could allow the other this one lenience. He had come to Little Hangleton after all and he did reward loyalty…and Harry was loyal, just not in the traditional sense.

The boy would make a terrible Death Eater, that was why he had refrained from forcing the Dark Mark upon Harry's arm. Absently, his fingers trailed across the forearm in question, his magic flickering in response to the gentle thrum of power and ownership beneath his fingers.

Tear tracks had dried on the other's face, and he moved his fingers up to these. He didn't much like crying, but Harry cried silently…it was, somewhat mesmerising, in its way.

"You owe me then," he stated, watching with glee as Harry inclined his head in acceptance, not flinching from his inspecting touch. "Okay, then, I'm calling that in and you are not leaving your study of Mind Arts behind."

Harry began to nod again, half asleep, before his eyes widened.

"Wait - what? Tom! No," he started.

Tom chuckled, pressing a hand over the boy's mouth once more. It seemed to silence the other rather efffetively.

"Enough; no use protesting. You agreed. Up you get."

Still stumbling through his protests, all of which Tom ignored with a practised ease, he bought them both to a shaky stand. They walked, perhaps just the tiniest bit unsteadily, towards the Slytherin dorms.

Ah. Right. Bed. Zevi. Damn. He really needed to get Harry his own bed. He couldn't believe none of the staff had done so.

He eyed his wand, then mentally checked his coherency levels, before sighing.

Salazar. Sharing it was. Harry seemed to notice the dilemma too, pausing in the threshold.

"Oh…I'll, um, go sleep on the sof-"

"-Nonsense," he dismissed, briskly. What was the point?. "Strip, change and get in bed. And don't bloody well hog the covers," he ordered.

Harry was still, eyes fixed on the large bed.

"But people already think we're a couple," Harry said, dumbly.

"Well, you _have _slept with me before," he smirked. Harry's gaze shot to him, clinging to the normalcy with desperation.

"Yes, literally! As in, that's all we did!" the other stated, clearly investing an awful lot of effort into not thinking outside of this present conversation.

"No need to sound so flustered. Now move," he instructed, pushing the younger into action.

"I'm going to have a panic attack if I can't remember how this happened in the morning…" Harry muttered, presumably in a tone that was meant to be under his breath.

He bit back a laugh. Harry really shouldn't give him ideas.

* * *

A/N: I'm going to hide. I know this was HUGELY disappointing. I'm disappointed. So, I'll just post, you guys can tell me how much better you expected it to be, and I'll hurry along a better, new update so we can forgot all about it…yes? Sounds like a plan. Seriously, if anyone wants to rewrite this chapter then I will happily replace this with something that actually lives up to expectation. I'm so ashamed…

In my defense, to Harry, what he said and did (like crying in front of Tom) would be a big deal...

On the other hand! MERLIN IS STARTING AGAIN SOON! Anyone hyped? ;)


	72. Chapter 71

For those of you who asked: Merlin starts October 1st (in the UK), straight after the Doctor Who Finale =) Yay, my Saturday will be a double whammy of pure awesome! 

Chapter 71:

Harry clung to the vestiges of sleep, absently aware that his head was buried into someone's shoulder, his legs tangled up with another's.

His head throbbed, his mouth dry.

Thank God the Dungeons didn't yield much light. Why on earth had he drunk so much last night?  
He couldn't quite muster the brain power needed to contemplate that pressing question any further, merely drifting in that comfortable, warm stage between dreams and awareness.

Zevi was rather comfortable…he was broken from his bleary musings as light abruptly shot into the room, and the dorm room slammed open with a sharp bang, causing him to immediately jack knife upwards and hold out his wand.

Oh. Snape.

Why was Snape giving him an odd lo…crap.  
He wasn't in Zevi's bed, was he?

Tom blinked slightly at the early morning intrusion, looking only marginally dishevelled from the last night's drinking.

It all came flooding back to him.

Mr Weasley. God. Mr Weasley was dead. It struck him with the intensity of one of Tom's glares.

He'd…started sobbing on Tom…merlin…that was bad. That was so embarrassing.  
What had happened after that? Why was he in Tom's bed? That bit was a bit blurry, admittedly. Crap.

The other Slytherins were coming to an awareness as Snape stared at the two of them, seemingly frozen, his expression unreadable.

Harry looked down; he wasn't naked or something, was he? No, he was wearing his boxers just like he always was, even if he wasn't wearing his normal t-shirt….except Snape couldn't see that part, could he?

"It's not what you think," his mouth blurted, awkwardly.

Tom propped himself up one elbow, studying him with a small measure of amusement. Harry looked to the side. They were very close. Hoping he wasn't flushing or anything, because really he had no reason too except for the fact that he _knew _what misconceptions and presumptions those around the two of them were drawing, he looked back at Snape as the other man strode towards them.

He had two bottles in hand, and an expression of barely restrained revulsion, horror and disapproval.

"Hangover cure," the Potions master told them in clipped tones, before backing away from them as if they carried some terminal, contagious disease. "Get dressed Mr Potter. The Headmaster would like to see you before you leave. Should I assume you were too _busy _too pack?"

Leave? Where-Grimmauld Place. Oh god. He had to face the Weasley's…he'd been drunk when he'd said that last night, surely they hadn't taken his request as an actual request?

Salazar.

It wasn't that he didn't want to see if Ron and everyone was okay, but…Mr Weasley was _dead_ because of him, surely they didn't want to see him? Before he could voice any of this, Snape had stalked out again, robes billowing like bat wings behind him.

"Rough night?" Lestrange asked, sullenly, eyeing the two of them. Something in Harry snapped. He was so sick of the other's attitude.

"Oh yeah," he smirked suggestively, utterly fake. "Between you and me, it's the sadistic streak. _Good times…_"

Lestrange spluttered while Zevi burst out laughing. Draco regarded him warily, as if not sure whether he was joking or not. Tom rolled his eyes, flopping back down onto the bed, careless, watching as he stumbled out from beneath the sheets, struggling into a pair of jeans.

The Slytherins watched as well. He tried not to feel self conscious, but couldn't help it.

"Stop staring at me, pervs," he snapped, his temper taut. Most the Slytherin's immediately looked away; Tom simply raised an eyebrow at him. He ignored the other, numb.

He picked up one of the vials Snape had left on the bedside table, downing it in one, grimacing at the foul taste, before hurrying to the bathroom to brush both his teeth clean and the vile taste away as his mind noticeably cleared.

When he reluctantly glanced up at the mirror, feeling eyes on his back, he saw Tom had entered and was leaning against the door, studying him. He bent over to spit out toothpaste and rinse, not saying anything. God.

"About last night," he began uncomfortably, as Tom simultaneously stated:

"When will you be back?"

They paused, appraising each other for a moment.

"You first," Harry muttered, happy for the excuse. Tom merely looked at him, folding his arms casually against his chest. Harry couldn't get past his despondency to put up a fight.

"About last night," he started again. "I'm sorry about that…you know…er…crying on you and all that….yeah. And for, um, punching you…but you were baiting me! And yeah…erm…I should go, I still need to pack and Dumbledore wants to see me."

"So I heard," Tom stated, not moving from the door. Harry stopped in front of him, trying to put as many topics between 'last night and AWKWARD' as he could.

"I'll probably be back in a couple of days," he offered. "I don't know. It depends on the Weasleys."

Harry swallowed slightly in anticipation. At least he'd get to see Sirius and Remus. It was a thin silver lining for such a black storm cloud, but still a silver lining.

He felt sick, and he presumed it wasn't because Snape had poisoned him. Tom inclined his head in acknowledgment.

"I'll hold you to that," the Slytherin Heir said, "and come find you if you don't show up for Christmas." Harry smiled tiredly.

"Duly noted," he murmured. "You better have got me a Christmas present." He interjected the last in an effort to find normalcy, in the scarce hope that the world outside of the Slytherin Dorm hadn't stopped.

It was odd, he'd never really known Mr Weasley, and perhaps that made it worse. Now he was just left with the uncertainties, the feeling that he should have done better, the feeling that he had absolutely no right to grieve the man who had made Harry wonder what having a father would be like.

The Weasley's were going to despise him.

"Excuse me," he said softly, hoping it would prompt the other to move aside. Tom did so, still studying him, his words giving Harry slight pause.

"**Write me if you have any trouble," **Tom hissed.

Harry didn't know what type of trouble Tom thought he might find, or even if Tom expected him to take him up on the offer, but he dipped his head in agreement.

"Back at you," he murmured.

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk in much the same position as when Harry had last been there. His hands were woven beneath his chin, but the blue eyes were grave.

"Harry," he greeted quietly. "Take a seat."

Wary, Harry did so, eyes flicking around the room. Fawkes chirped reassuringly.

"Your punishment for leaving the school will be addressed upon your return. You must understand that you cannot simply come and go as you please, especially in such dark times as these."

"There's a rule against it?" Harry returned, feeling anger swelling in his gut. What had Mr Weasley even been doing to get attacked by Nagini? Dumbledore's gaze sharpened with a cold seriousness.

"I am merely concerned for your safety…where is that you and Mr Riddle went?"

Harry laughed hollowly. Of course that was what this was about.

"Where Mr Riddle and I go and what we do is largely our own business," he said tightly. "Where is that Mr Weasley got attacked by a snake?"

"You did not see it?" the Headmaster questioned, regarding him piercingly. "Do you no longer get glimpses into the mind of Lord Voldemort?"

"I did not see it," Harry confirmed, not answering the latter query. "Do you really think I would have ignored it and ignored Mr Weasley if I did?" he demanded.

"Sometimes," Dumbledore said softly, "I'm not sure what to think about you or what you would do any more Mr Potter."

Harry looked away, irrationally irritated with the swirling chasm of emotions scribbling stories upon his blood stream. Dumbledore sighed, leaning forwards, imploring.

"Come back to the light, Harry. This is not right, us being on such opposing factions."

"We're not on opposing factions," Harry spat, his gaze snapping to the old man again. "I want Voldemort sorted out just as much as you do, you are _pushing_ us onto opposing factions with your Grindewaldian black and white mentality!" Dumbledore seemed to flinch, almost imperceptively at the reference to the former Dark Lord. Harry's brow furrowed as to why that would be, but he continued regardless. "My methods are simply different from yours - I am simply different from you, and you are not always right."

Dumbledore stared at him neutrally for a moment.

"You sound remarkably like young Tom, it seems he is quite the influence on you."

Harry resisted the urge to growl in response, clenching his teeth.

"May I go?" he questioned. "This conversation is getting us nowhere."

Dumbledore sighed, heavily, leaning back into his chair once more, looking every inch his age.

"I wish to begin private lessons with you, when you should return. I am sorry to force this upon you in a time of mourning, but this war will wait for no man, however loved. Whatever your grievances with me, I would like you to try and put them aside for now."

"I already have an Occlumency teacher," Harry said.

Dumbledore's gaze glinted with genuine surprise and something else, before he smiled faintly.

"I was not referring to the Mind Arts, my boy. Now, I believe the Weasley's are expecting you."

Harry rose from the seat, recognising the dismissal, and not all too bothered with complying with it and leaving the man to his thoughts. "And Harry," Dumbledore called, as he reached the door. Harry didn't turn, keeping himself carefully controlled.

"Yes?" he questioned.

"It is human to feel pain, to love, don't let Mr Riddle dissuade you from that."

Harry was silent for a moment, before he left, unspeaking.

He arrived at the doorstep of Grimmauld place some five minutes later.

* * *

A/N: So, um, it seems that the last chapter wasn't a disappointment. *Sheepishly rubs head.* I guess I just have slightly high standards and can be a bit critical of myself. Thank you so much for the reviews, they inspired me to get this out to you quickly, to return the feeling of warmth and affection receiving your comments left in me. 

Much appreciation, I hope you enjoyed this one too. PS: Has anyone noticed that my chapter length/word count has gradually crawled higher? Good, ja?


	73. Chapter 72

Chapter 72:

The rooms of Grimmauld Place were exactly how Harry remembered them from the summer; dark, gloomy and perfectly matched for his falling spirits.

He could hear voices in the living room, broken murmurs. He hesitated, frozen on the spot, before his feet began to lead him forwards without conscious permission.

There they were - The Weasleys. The black clothing clashed poignantly with the flame of read hair crowning each head, halted only by a three other heads, dark, sandy and brunette respectively.

Sirius Remus. Hermione.

He could feel his throat tightening at the sight.

No one in the room was crying, but there was instead an awful, cold, deathly silence, and traces of grief everywhere. Stark white faces, red puffy eyes, lips pressed into hard thin lines and shaking hands. And the aura.

Sadness permeated the house, heavy and oppressive, curling icy fingers into every crevice or nuance of feeling, pain and sorrow, or anger. They seemed to notice him, but for a moment no one said anything.

Ginny immediately strode past him, features crumpled, slamming the door behind her without word. Harry flinched almost visibly.

"I'm _so _sorry for your loss," he said quietly. "Is there anything I can do?"

Mrs Weasley was around him instantly, her arms crushing him a hug.

"Oh, Harry, thank goodness you're alright, there was no sign of you last night," she said. Harry instantly felt a million times worse. She released him after a moment, teary eyed. "He would be glad you're okay," she declared tremulously, before dissolving into tears. "I'm s-sorry," she stammered.

"Don't worry about it," Harry replied softly. "It's fine…I understand…you're grieving," he dithered helplessly on his words.

What was he doing here? He didn't know what to do to help, he couldn't find any meaningful words to say. He was powerless. He didn't know how to deal with these emotions, how to breach the gap or make it better or even comfort…he'd never really given comfort, especially not for something like this.

He'd received comfort before, but unless it was Tom it largely felt awkward. _Emotionally screwed up. _All his experience in this type of reassurance came from a drunken moment with a psychopath…and that probably wasn't the best example to emulate. God.

Ron was staring at him, an uncharacteristically flat expression on his face. Harry resisted the urge to cringe.

"I'm surprised you bothered to show," the red head greeted, offering a smile so obviously NOT warm that it couldn't even truly be classified as a smile.

"Ron, give it a rest," muttered an older redhead, who he presumed was either Bill or Charlie. "Now's not the time for fighting."

"Of course I showed," Harry said warily. "You're my best friend."

Ron made a noise in the back of his throat.

"Are you? Cause you know, lately, it feels more like your best friend is Riddle."

Harry suppressed a sigh.

"Don't, don't do this," he said quietly. "Don't drag Tom into you being angry at _me_. He's got nothing-"

"He's got nothing to do with this?" Ron's voice raised in both pitch and noise, incredulous. "He's got everything to do with this! Maybe if he hadn't dragged you out at all hours of the night my father wouldn't be dead!"

There was a shocked silence, so loud it could have been a scream.

"Actually, Tom didn't drag me anywhere. I went on my own accord," Harry corrected, voice muted compared to Ron's yelling. "Same way I would if you or Hermione asked me. I am _sorry_ about your Dad, but it wasn't Tom's fault. It was _mine. _I chose to go, I didn't get the vision-"

He didn't get a chance to finish before Ron strode out much the same was that Ginny did. Hermione looked completely torn.

"Go after him," Harry instructed. Ron needed a friend more right now. Hermione smiled, faintly, hugging him tightly, before dashing after Ron. An awkward silence settled on the remaining people in the lounge.

"I should go and see about some lunch," Mrs Weasley muttered, hurrying out, seeming to attempt to wipe her tears away discreetly. "You must all be hungry," she continued, as the door closed.

She was clearly trying to boost her manner with a false brightness, a desperate lunge for the way things were before, a reason to stay strong for her children.

"Well," Sirius said weakly in the following silence, "it's good to see you prongslet."

"You too," he murmured.

It was much later, when he was unpacking (he was actually bunking with Sirius and Remus in Sirius' old room, there wasn't really enough room for everyone to have their own with the sudden influx of visitors and the large number of rooms that's still weren't up to use with all the dangerous stuff they had in them, and he figured it wouldn't be a good idea to bunk with twins and _Ron_) when the door opened.

It was Fred and George.

He straightened immediately, tensing as they closed the door behind them and shot up a silencing charm. Were they as full of vitriol towards him as their younger brother? Who had spat insinuations and insults whenever he saw Harry, while largely trying to avoid him?

His throat tightened. His hand closed around the handle of his wand in paranoia, but they both simply wandered over, gesturing for him to sit between them. They had withdrawn their wands.

Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief, guilty that he'd even think that the twins would attack him. This house just made him jumpy. He didn't know why, he'd felt oddly restless all day.

"You should ignore Ron-" George started.

"-The prat's just grieving-" Fred continued.

"He doesn't really mean anything he says to you right now, he's angry at the world," they both finished, regarding him expectantly. Harry simply nodded, not sure what to say to that, but then the words slipped out before he could catch them on his tongue and slam them back down his throat.

"You guys don't seem angry at me," he said, eyeing them. Why weren't they?  
They shot him identical, tired grins.

"That's because we're awesome," they said.

Harry smiled slightly despite himself.

"Thanks," he said, not specifying what he was grateful for.

They seemed to understand, each squeezing one of his shoulders before wandering out again. "Oh, and Mum says dinner is in half an hour," one of them called out, as they shut the door behind them.

Harry watched the door for a moment, blankly, listening as their footsteps disappeared down the hall. He felt touched that they'd bothered to reassure him, even in such a small, seemingly insignificant non wordy way, despite being in the midst of their own mourning.

That was just the type of son's (mostly) that Mr Weasley had raised.

He sat there numbly for a moment, lost in thought and memory, before he continued unpacking with a renewed vigour, desperate not to be left alone with the shadows in his mind.

He was just shaking out a shirt (the funeral was in a weeks time, or so Mrs Weasley had said, done rapidly due to the fact that the order needed to not bring attention to whether it was that Mr Weasley had been when he died,) when he noticed the crumpled bit of paper stuck to a small leaflet looking thing which he had most definitely not packed.

He plucked it out, eyeing it dispassionately, before his lips twitched reluctantly.

It was a book about the five stages of Grief.  
_Is it normal to feel angry? Feelings of abandonment…guilt…hard acceptance_…there were so many things.

Not sure whether to be annoyed with it or something else, he hid it amongst his t-shirt pile, before turning his gaze to the attached note.

**Don't fall to pieces, and blame Zevi for the crappy book. **

A/N: I actually had a life this weekend, and shouldn't be posting this now…so I hope you lot appreciate it! Thanks for the reviews, gotta dash, bye.

More on the Weasley's next chapter, and the fall out of Mr Weasley's death.


	74. Chapter 73

Chapter 73:

It had been a week, and though Harry felt appalled to admit it (or refuse to admit to himself, as the case may have been) he honestly just wanted to leave the depressing aura of the Black house and go back to Hogwarts.

He wanted to write Tom, but Tom has said "if you get into any trouble," and he wasn't in trouble. And it made him seem hopelessly clingy and bleugh.

Tom hadn't made any contact with him either. Not that he needed to. He'd said he'd be back in a couple of days, and it had only been a week.

Salazar.

He sounded pathetic.

It wasn't that he needed to see Tom or anything…it just felt slightly _odd _not seeing him. Or talking to him, whatever. He felt slightly at loss with what to do with himself, which was bad.

He'd found a cool locket in one of the rooms when they were cleaning though. It was gold with an 'S' on it. He could feel the magic thrumming with it, like a heartbeat. It was right up Tom's street - Christmas present sorted.

It wasn't technically stealing…Sirius had pretty much flung it on his hands after managing to wrestle it off Kreacher...He didn't care what Hermione said: that house-elf was just weird.

He was in the Black Library now, avoiding Ron.  
He knew his best friend was grieving, and that he was upset, but the other Weasley's (barring Ginny) seemed to be able to prevent themselves from bristling at the hackles whenever he walked into a room, making snide comments until he left.

No, that was unfair. Ron looked absolutely exhausted, pale, with dark smudges under his eyes. His eyes seemed to constantly hold the red tint of recent sobbing.

It definitely wasn't his place to get irritated, or snap back. Hermione seemed to be helping at any rate; he often saw his two best friends together. They'd stopped arguing as much as they used to. He supposed they spent a lot of time together without him as a buffer…adapting was natural.

He did feel guilty about that, but…he didn't know. Everything felt messed up.

It was this house.

He'd heard Sirius crying out from nightmares almost every night, but had always pretended to be asleep and peaceful in his dreams, a heavy sleeper. It wasn't lying! It was…Sirius and Remus tried so hard to make sure it didn't wake him up, or bother him. He couldn't ruin their happy obliviousness, and Sirius clearly had enough on his plate with the ghosts of Azkaban without Harry's troubles on top of that…and he couldn't talk to the Weasley's about anything, despite the fact that most of them had offered at some point or other.

God…when had he started to feel more comfortable in the shadows then in the light? When had that even happened? And why did he feel so bloody restless all the time?

The funeral was soon.

He twirled his fingers absently around the chain of the golden locket in his hands, watching the glint of the green S in the light.

It was a bit after lunch, and no one was cleaning the house anymore. Mrs Weasley had insisted on them doing it, but Harry knew it was due to how something so mindless as cleaning could soothe a panicked, rolling mind.

He sighed, strolling down the aisles of musty books, eyeing the shelves with a disinterested wariness. There was some nasty stuff…nasty stuff.

This was the Black library! Did they, perhaps, have something on Horcruxes?

Dumbledore hadn't told him anymore about them, and Tom was certainly unwilling to breach the specifics of the subject.

He hunted the relatively small library with a fervour for fifteen minutes; he'd paced it a least ten times by now, with a rekindled energy, actually paying attention to the titles.

_Blood Purity; the History of the Blacks…Why the 'Light' aint right…offensive spells for the Dark of Grey Wizard…most potent potions…the comprehensive guide to magical creatures…a thousand runes and rituals…secrets of the darkest arts…shadows that heal and conceal…_wait! What?

He tracked back to Secrets of the Darkest Arts…Horcruxes were way Dark, they would be in there, wouldn't they?

He plucked the book out suspiciously, praying it wasn't horribly cursed or liable to burn his eyes out…nothing. He looked around him, before backing into a spot hidden from the door, opening the book to the contents.

_Blood magic, bone magic, rituals, necromancy, soul magic…_he flipped open to soul magic, lip curling with disgust. This stuff was horrible.

Dark Magic may have not been evil, but this stuff WAS, it had to be.

There were spells to torture a soul, how to trap a soul, or a bind a soul to another person through contract, howto call up the soul of someone once dead, how to use the power of a soul to enhance your own magic and…the Horcrux.

Half uncertain on whether or not he wanted to see this or not, he flicked to the relevant page, staring uncomprehending at lines of tight writing, circles, stars and…this magic was _advanced, _way past his understanding regarding any more than basics.

It wasn't as simple as an incantation, or even a normal spell or a potion…there were runes involved, and preparations, and after effects to ensure the rest of your soul remained attached and in your body…it was complicated.

It made reference to unforgivable acts having to take place for the soul to be torn open…how could Tom even _consider _this?

The book even said it was the most vile of all magics.

Bile clawed up his throat, relentless, his stomach swollen.

A Horcrux was a valued possession (was that all he was?) that must be protected.

The only way to reverse is through remorse, deep-seated genuine remorse for ones actions (Voldemort was screwed.)

It could only be destroyed by the most destructive of substances…Fiendfyre and basilisk venom. What the hell was Fiendfyre again?

And…didn't you have to be a Horcrux to destroy a Horcrux? Dumbledore had said…it must be true, Tom hadn't said anything against it either…what other reason would there be for him to have to be the one to destroy Voldemort?

The owner of the Horcrux cannot die until all Horcruxes are gone, but he already knew that bit…can cause emotional instability…it is dangerous to get too emotionally dependent or close to a Horcr…_shit. _

What exactly did that mean if someone was a living Horcrux? Could the Horcrux in him…

Ginny.

It couldn't be the Horcrux in him that was affecting her, otherwise it would have started before Tom came to his time…wouldn't it? He couldn't tell.

Parts of the text, sparse and cramped though it was, he couldn't even understand.  
Hell! Some of it wasn't even in sodding English.

He slammed the book shut, ramming it back on the shelf and glaring at it.

He should burn the thing. Burn it so no one can ever find it...shit.

He slid to a seated position on the floor, his head in the hands. T

his was what he was. He wasn't even _human _he was something else, something terrible and evil and…did the Horcrux part affect him? Affect his life? Did it attack those he cared about? Or those who cared too much about him?

He wasn't fit for society.

Another couple of days had passed.

Ron no longer made comments, he didn't have the opportunity to, Harry didn't stay out of his self-enforced isolation long enough for the redhead to have the chance.

He knew they were worried about him, had all tried to get him to come out and socialise…but he couldn't. He needed answers.

He needed…was it what he needed, or what the Horcrux needed?

The parseltongue had slipped through, so had an affinity for Dark Magic…what else was his that wasn't his at all?

He hadn't slept. He was scared to. What if the Horcrux could possess him when he was sleeping? When he was weak? When he let his guard down?

He was aware that they had all left him alone now, largely given up on getting any type of response from him.

Ron had yelled that he was a "selfish, attention seeking git" and the like. It had just swept over him, it didn't touch him.

It was the most life he'd seen in Ron since his father had died.  
Was that the absence of a Horcrux? Did he have his own personality?

He shuddered, fingers scrunching tightly into his head.

There was a muttering of voices downstairs, footsteps…wouldn't they just leave him alone?

He'd charmed the door shut with Parseltongue to prevent anyone from coming in and getting infected.

He had tried largely to avoid eating too…after all, why keep alive something that would aid Voldemort?

He stared morosely at the floor, still twirling the locket through his fingers. He studied at it intently.

It was a strangely soothing object, smooth in his hands…maybe he should just keep it himself? Tom didn't really need it, did he?

A fist pounded on the door, but he ignored it, before his head snapped up at the dangerous voice issuing through the keyhole.

"**Open the door right this instant, hero, people are wondering if you've died in there! And I didn't get dragged here to talk to a piece of wood."**

Harry's heart stopped.

* * *

A/N: Well, okay, it turned out the Weasley's weren't all the much in this chapter after all, erm, sorry. But you know, guess who's back? I was actually going to have him away longer, but you know, you guys were complaining profusely after one chapter ;) Thanks for the reviews! I know this chapter seemed a bit like an information overload…but the next one should be better…I've been saying that for the last couple of chapters…but you know if history talks, you like the chapters that I hate ;) Fingers crossed.

PS: Can I make a request to ALL readers? It's my Birthday coming up, and I get like 1000 hits for a chapter…but about maybe 15-23 reviews (NOT THAT I DON'T TOTALLY LOVE THEM OR AM UNGRATEFUL!) but it's kind of a secret wish of mine that one time every single person who reads the chapter would leave a comment, be it good, bad, okay, stop writing because you're making my mind bleed…and well, I'm open to anon reviews. And it's my 18th Birthday soon? So…presents? *cheesy grin.* You don't have to, and I don't want to sound ungrateful, but…ya know. I'm going to hide. Maybe delete this request and make it after a good chapter when you all actually like me and FF. J

If you take on the request, it can be with the next chapter, which I promise you should actually be worth reviewing! And that one (if you go by apparent fast updating, would be closer, as my birthday is quite early next month...


	75. Chapter 74

Chapter 74:

Harry stared at the door, completely nonplussed, unmoving.

"Now," Tom growled. "Unless you'd like to pay your Godfather for the doors I break down."

That got Harry moving, and he stumbled to his feet, the locket hanging limply in his grip. He released the charm, pulling the door open a crack.

Tom looked distinctly unimpressed, gaze surveying him intently. He could see everyone else peering at them from down the corridor. He didn't stand aside, blinking, wondering if isolation had made him start hallucinating.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked blankly. Tom arched his brows, with a 'you have to ask' look in his face, one hand raising and absently pushing him backwards from the door so he could enter. Harry staggered back slightly and Tom shut the door behind him, locking and silencing it against the sound of feet inching closer outside, before the Slytherin Heir rounded on him once more, arms folded lazily as he leant against the door.

"What happened to 'write me if you were in trouble?'" Tom returned. Harry ignored this - he wasn't in trouble - and persisted.

"Tom, this is Order Headquarters…how can you be here?"

Tom looked around him with interest.

"Is it? They just told me it was your Godfather's house…thanks for the hint, I'll make sure to raid the cabinets for plans and secret documents. What happened to 'write me if you were in trouble?'" Tom repeated.

"I'm not in trouble," Harry said, staring at the other. Tom gave him a dangerous look.

"Ah, so you locked yourself in a room and refused to communicate with anyone for fun then…I see…enjoying yourself with that? You look terrible, by the way."

Harry's grip tightened around the locket in his hand.

"They called you?" he asked, disbelieving. The light side, Dumbledore, had willingly invited Tom to Grimmauld Place? He couldn't get his head around it.

"I always said you weren't stupid," Tom said dryly "But yes, though I would have eventually got round the Fidelius charm on my own accord. Your emotions are giving me a headache."

Harry couldn't think. It was just a shock to see Tom again, here, of all places. The Slytherin Heir's head tilted to one side.

"So," Tom stated flatly. "Why have you shut yourself in a room-**what is that**?" Tom's eyes had fixed on his hand, on the locket, as he immediately strode forward, fingers closing around Harry's and pulling the locket to dangle in the space between them, though he didn't actually touch the golden jewellery. Harry blinked.

"It's a locket," he said. "Obviously."

"A lock…" Tom's gaze snapped up to his from the ornate 's', his other hand seizing Harry's collar with lightning fast reflexes. "When did you get it? Have you opened it and why do you have this?"

Harry tugged back slightly, his mind whizzing in confusing circles, but Tom didn't let go, tightening his grip instead in a clear order for Harry to "stay put and answer."

"It's just a locket," he began defensively, trying to bring it closer to his chest, protectively. "Why are you-"

"**It's a horcrux**," Tom said. Harry dropped the thing as if it had scalded him, while Tom's magic darted out to catch it before it could hit the floor, levitating it gently in the air between them. "You didn't know, more so you didn't notice," Tom stated, eyeing him. "And that was a rather vehement reaction, even for you. Don't even bother trying to tell me you're fine."

Harry swallowed slightly, stare fixed on the golden locket. The Horcrux.

"It's something to do with Horcruxes," Tom guessed, regarding him intently, searching for clues as to whether he was on the right track or not. Harry's mouth felt dry.

"Get that thing away from me," he murmured, voice croaky. Tom's fingers flexed slightly, his hands drawn to the locket, though once more not quite touching, a fascinated shine to his countenance.

"It seems it heard you," Tom stated softly. Harry staggered back a step. Horrified. Tom's eyes followed him carefully, before he smiled twistedly.

"It disgusts you, terrifies you, more than it used to and you were never particularly favourable to the idea," Tom continued, walking forwards for every step he took back, more away from the Horcrux then Tom. "That leads me to conclude that something has enhanced your fear of Horcruxes. Has their perhaps been an incident with this one? But no…you didn't know what this truly was, you actually seemed to rather favour it," Tom's eyes gleamed at that. Harry's jaw clenched.

Tom stopped only inches away from him, while Harry trembled, eyes fixed on the locket rather than Tom's face. It was cowardly, it was not fitting for a Gryffindor, it was…slender fingers forced his gaze upwards and away from the Horcrux.

"So," Tom murmured, "what have you found out?"

Harry was quiet, body tense, unable to look away. The silence became clogging.

"You know," Tom said casually, "I could ask the locket if you're just going to sit there, un-answering…which is rather rude of you, by the way."

Could Tom do that? Would the Horcrux respond to him? He didn't want to find out.

"I found a book on Horcruxes," Harry explained tightly. "It goes into detail…Tom how could you even consider it? They're vile, evil-" Tom clamped a hand over his mouth, dangerous.

"Careful darling, you're outnumbered two to one on that opinion right now," the Slytherin Heir murmured. Two to one? The locket. He was referring to the locket, it's feelings. "My soul? Vile? You think so?" Tom continued, something in his tone.

"Not yours," Harry explained frantically, when Tom allowed him to speak. "Voldemort's"

"You know that little anagram?" Tom interrupted, devoid of a smile. "It's present tense: 'I am Lord Voldemort,' not I was, or will be, or might be or won't be if Harry wills it not to be true - am!."

Harry refused to flinch or look away.

Tom studied him for a moment, his voice softening.

"Don't you think you're overreacting to this, just a little bit? Honestly, it's not going to bite you."

"How do you know?" Harry snapped. "Tom Riddle's Di-your-THE diary tried to kill me and possess Ginny."

"Well, you were trying to end it's existence, that's just self-preservation. _I'd _attack you too if threatened my livelihood, and as for Weasley…don't get me started on the little wench," Tom said disgustedly. "Add that it's _my _soul, no matter the variant and _of course _I know what it will or will not do. It will not harm you, you're being ridiculous. Here," Tom floated the Horcrux closer to him, "take it. It suits you."

Harry let the locket dangle on his wrist where Tom's magic dropped it, eyeing it warily, making no effort to improve his grip on it, but nor to push it away. It gave a reassuring thrum. He regarded it suspiciously.

"Look, come here," Tom ordered, reaching for his temples. Harry jerked back, unable to help it, nervous of letting Tom pluck out every little thing bothering him…for why else would he be reaching for Harry's mind except for legilimency?

Tom didn't pause, merely grasping his head firmly in his hands. Harry's fingers curled around the locket automatically, when it began to slip from his grip.

"What are you doing?" he asked, numbly. God, he was tired.

"Looking to see if the locket had any adverse effects on you, or somehow caused your sudden burst of angst, because it's depressive even for you," Tom replied flippantly.

"You think its possessed me?" Harry blanched, alarmed. Tom rolled his eyes.

"No…but did you know that _sometimes_ people who _don't _have the traits of a moronic, reckless Gryffindor, yes, such beings exist, surprise! Do this thing called 'checking', and, oh, guess what? This will amaze you, it's due to taking these actions called 'safety precautions." Isn't that simply radical?"

Harry snorted, amused despite himself. There was something about Tom that made it difficult to truly "angst" in his presence.

"I know what a safety precaution is," he replied.

"Besides," Tom continued, favouring him with the lingering sceptical expression, presumably because of what his response. "You're just going to work yourself into an even bigger panic attack if you're left to your own devices and uncertainties - that's why you should **write me.**"

Harry didn't have time to reply to that before he felt the horribly familiar sensation of Tom picking through his memories of the last couple of days at warp speed. In under a minute, the 'check' was done, and Tom released him, confirming that the Horcrux hadn't actually done anything _evil_ to him, and that on the contrary, it had actually been one of the things that stopped him from doing something "utterly stupid."

Harry wasn't sure what he felt about that. He knew Tom had also come across the memory of the Horcrux book…had probably deliberately searched for it to avoid the "time-consuming" conversation where Harry explained what he'd found out.

There was a moment of quiet, before Tom spoke again, an expression of understanding and realisation upon his features for the first time since Horcruxes had become a topic/issue between them.

"What do you think a 'soul' is?" Tom questioned. Harry paused, uncertain, thoughtful.

"It's, er, well it's what makes us 'us', isn't it? Like, our life force? Our essence…immortal spirit-y thing?" he offered hesitantly, stumbling over the definition of a word he'd never had to explain before.

"And what do you think happens after we die?" Tom questioned. Harry's brow furrowed.

"Well, I presume there must be some type of afterlife…we have ghosts after all, necromancers…but I don't know, I'm not particularly religious, didn't really go to church with the Dursleys…so I don't really believe in Heaven, or Hell. We just…I don't know, go somewhere. Elsewhere. What about you?"

Tom looked surprised momentarily. "What do you think?" Harry elaborated.

"You don't find the idea of hedging your bets on the unknown unsavoury?" Tom asked, not really responding, looking deep in thought. Harry merely shrugged.

"Everyone's scared of the unknown," he said carefully, "but if you're asking about whether or not I'm afraid to die? No, I'm not. In some ways, it can be viewed as something as a relief."

Tom looked very much like he wanted to flat out tell Harry he was wrong.

"So…if you don't believe in Heaven or Hell, where exactly is your ground for hating Horcruxes? Don't say because 'it's not human' you get on fine with the wolf outside."

"Moral opposition," Harry said, not missing a beat. "The soul should not be torn apart…"

"Why?" Tom persisted. Harry frowned.

"Because it's your soul! You can't, I don't know, move on without it…"

"Which is irrelevant if you don't plan to move on at all," Tom said, tone filled with conviction.

"Just cause you plan on boring yourself with immortality doesn't mean I do…what does the Horcrux do to me?"

"Protects you while you're alive, as it needs you to sustain it, presumably takes over your body when you're dead…doesn't immortality suddenly sound so much more appealing, horcrux-boy?"

Harry stared at Tom, aghast, unbelieving that the other had just said that, or called him that.

"No!" he exclaimed. "It still sounds horrible. It's not like my body matters in comparison to my soul once I've moved on anyway."

Tom merely raised his eyebrows at that, something ominous glinting in his gaze, before he replied:

"From your reactions, one may think it was your position as a Horcrux that has turned you into a hermit who doesn't sleep…and when was the last time you ate? You're far too skinny, and you were thin before."

"Maybe it was," Harry said defiantly. "It says it's dangerous to get too emotionally dependant on a Horcrux, I'm not going to risk the people I care about just because I'm…" Harry trailed off.

"Vile?" Tom offered, callously. Harry winced.

"I don't think your soul is vile," he said, feeling like he'd put his foot in it. "I just…" he trailed off again.

"Think it's vile," Tom finished

."No!" Harry snapped, irritated, "stop saying that! You know perfectly well I don't think your soul is vile, if I did I wouldn't spend time with you. Salazar…"

"But you think Horcruxes are," Tom said, studying him.

"Yes," Harry said, not denying it. "The soul is not supposed to be mutilated."

"Technically, it's just moved to a different location…like an out of body experience," Tom retorted.

Harry's lip twitched, even though he was painfully aware of the fact that he probably couldn't get Tom to see the moral wrong in Horcruxes. It involved murder for crying out loud! Yes, he'd killed someone before and would probably kill again to protect those he loved, but that didn't make it any less immoral.

He sighed, absently wondering when in the conversation his self-loathing had abated.  
Despite his status as a psychopath, Tom was very good at reassuring him…although that probably was because Tom was a psychopath so all need for morality largely got batted away in his presence due to his unflinching logic.

"We're not going to ever agree on this, are we?" Harry questioned, torn between despair and hysterics.

"Probably not," Tom agreed mildly. "Your level of morality is sickening…so frankly if you do die, even with a Horcrux you'd probably float straight up to where the angels lie."

Harry felt slightly uncomfortable.

"Do you believe in Heaven, Tom?" he asked, wondering if Tom would actually reply this time.

"No. Only hell."

* * *

A/N: So this kind of run away with me, and here seemed like a good place to stop…

Thank you SO much for the sheer number of reviews! I feel so loved. Yay! I am in shock, and awe... THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! As such, I felt the need to give you a super fast update to show my sincere appreciation. I hope you like it. It's not my birthday yet, but I'm pretty sure your kind words made it :)

PS: Have you guys read and reviewed EO9s "Fighting Fate"? You should.  
PPS: Guess what? I ddn't hate this chapter!

PPS: I've just thought of a cool name for a potential sequel for this (if there is one, at this moment there probably won't be, and to be honest I'm not sure how i'm ending FF yet...) "History's Hero" What do you think? It goes with my slight of obsession of alliterative titles ;)


	76. Chapter 75

Chapter 75:

They sat in silence for a bit, before Tom abruptly rose to his feet, effectively breaking the moment.  
Harry looked up at him, expressionless.

"You going back to Hogwarts now?" he asked, trying to sound unconcerned.

"Do you want me to?" Tom raised an eyebrow.

Harry shrugged, unwilling to see the smirk that would follow a no.

"Do you want to?" he returned. "Surely my opinion doesn't come into consideration, oh great Dark Lord…" he added mockingly.

Tom smirked, shrugging back in an annoyingly elegant manner, offering a hand to pull him up.

"I haven't raided top secret cupboards yet," he said in way of answer. "Coming?"

Sirius, Remus, Hermione and the Weasleys were outside of the door when he and Tom walked out, trying to look casual, as if they had coincidently just happened to congregate outside of his room.

"Hey," he greeted, awkwardly, uncomfortably aware of the fact he had pretty much refused to communicate to any of them in the last couple of days.

To be fair, he had thought it was for their own good! And he still wasn't sure that the Horcrux wouldn't do anything.

They all replied, voices falsely bright, as if pretending none of it ever happened.

"You okay?" Sirius and Remus both asked, softly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, resisting the urge to cough into his sleeve or something equally self-conscious, smiling.

"I see you're talking again," Ron noted. Harry paused, wary and hopeful at the same time.

"Yeah," he said, not knowing what else to say.

Ron nodded, twisting his hands, not saying anything else either. The silence continued, but Harry grinned at the red head, in a conciliatory fashion, knowing he was trying to make amends.

Ron grinned back, sheepishly, sadly.

"Awww, the kiddliwinkas are friends again!" Fred and George chorused suddenly, hugging each other over enthusiastically, wiping 'tears' from their eyes.

"Shut up," Ron grumbled, becoming animated again.

Tom looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, strolling past, snagging Harry's arm as he went to tug him along. Harry's gaze snapped to the other's face; unreadable.

The rest of the Grimmauld Household seemed to stumble after them, the Order members watching Tom with hawk eyes.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked, detachedly bemused.

"I need tea," Tom stated. "And I presume this place has a kitchen."

"Third door to the right on your first floor," Hermione offered, hurrying to catch up with them. "Are you sure you're okay, Harry? Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm fine," Harry repeated, smiling, exchanging a brief knowing expression with Ron. "And thanks, but no thanks."

They all arrived at the kitchen, Tom 'oblivious' to the way everyone stared at him as he opened cupboards. Every time he slammed one shut, somoene flinched.

Harry couldn't help but feel a terrible sense of amusement building in his chest.

"So…" Remus began, smiling widely at Tom, "Harry's told us a lot about you."

Harry automatically felt the urge to cringe at the opening lines, even as Tom's eyes gleamed.

"Oh?" The Slytherin Heir questioned. "All bad I presume?"

Remus looked even more uncomfortable.

"Er…"

"Thanks for saving my life," Sirius began instead. "Back at-"

"I didn't do it for _you_," Tom interrupted, flatly, his grin sharp. "Thank your godson, he's the one that cut the deal."

"Deal?" Sirius demanded, voice suddenly gone croaky, head swinging to Harry. "What deal? Harry-"

Harry forced a laugh.

"It's just a figure of speech, Tom's messing with you."

He shot the young Dark Lord in question a pointed glare, silently urging him to play nicely. Tom merely blinked back at him, putting the kettle to boil.

Harry couldn't help but pause at the bizzareness of this.

"You actually know how to make your own tea?" he questioned, distracted, not sure why that surprised him. Tom merely sneered at him in response, as if ridiculing the question. Mrs Weasley bustled over, flustered.

"Here, let me do it dear, you're a guest…how are you and Harry friends again?"

"We tried to kill each other, ended up comatose and well, you know what they say," Tom mused, stepping back as Mrs Weasley fussed over the tea, watching her with critical, glittering eyes, "the rest is history."

Harry almost closed his eyes in despair. The silence dragged on for a moment, oddly familiar, before Mrs Weasley laughed, a strained laugh. When Tom didn't chuckle and smile, she looked uncertainly at Harry along with everyone else, as if seeking translation.

"That one," Harry admitted feebly, at Tom's raised eyebrow "actually did happen."

They all gaped.

"Start of a beautiful new friendship," Tom stated cheerfully, content to dismiss the way he appeared to be steadily creeping everyone in the room out, and frankly, probably completely aware of the effect he was having despite his assumed carelessness, and gaining some sick sense of entertainment value from it.

Harry resisted the urge to face palm.

He could only imagine Sirius and Remus' reactions if he actually had been dating the psychopath….

He was torn between hilarity and horror.

From the fact Tom hadn't left yet, largely putting up with his friends, though he switched between the type of likeable charm that no one could resist and downright psychopathic behaviour seemingly on the flick of a switch, Harry presumed he was staying.

Harry would have to talk to him about it, the behaviour, not the staying - it was clear Tom was trying to unnerve the order members around him, playing up it much like he played up to the gossip of their rumoured couple-ness.

The real question was why? Why was he playing up to it?

Testing? Most likely.

He knew Tom perfectly well, and knew that he could have just used full out charm if he wanted to, but instead he chose to waver masks, reality and games into an indistinguishable blur. There was a reason behind it, Tom was above all not irrational.

Sirius pulled Harry aside later that night, much like Harry had been expecting, a serious 'godfather' like expression on his face.

Harry waited for the inevitable.

"Tom seems…" Sirius paused for a moment, searching for a word, "interesting."

"He is," Harry said quietly, knowing that much at least was true, and thanking whatever deity looked out for him (because it certainly wasn't Fate!) that Sirius hadn't said something like 'nice' or 'friendly,' for Tom was neither.

"You seem close," Sirius persisted.

"I suppose we are," Harry said, largely non-committal, eyeing the older man for any signs of his intentions.

There was just concern, worry, relief and something else…love? But he didn't know it too truly recognise it. It was a reassuring notion though. Sirius was quiet, leaning against the wall, struggling for the right articulations.

"I'm worried for you," Sirius said finally, with a blunt Gryffindor-ness that Harry couldn't help but smile at, a rush of fondness flooding his insides. It was nice that Sirius cared.

He didn't reply though. Sirius was studying him with an intensity Harry was unfamiliar with from the ex-convict, as Sirius was generally so lighthearted.

Harry wasn't sure this new solemnity suited him, or maybe it was just different and new.

"You…you're very dependent on him," Sirius murmured, his tone even softer now. Harry felt a flicker of shock, but Sirius continued before he could respond. "And honestly, kid, it can be slightly, well, alarming," his Godfather huffed a weak smile, as if to ease the growing tension. "I've never seen anything like it…you kind of orbit each other..."

Sirius was treading carefully now, studying Harry's features for expression. It was the first time it really hit Harry that Sirius had been raised in the Black, traditionally Slytherin, way, the pureblood way.

Harry returned the gaze squarely.

"Orbit?" he asked, neutrally.

"You can't keep your eyes off each other," Sirius said flatly. "When he's in the room you…position yourself around him, and he around you…you're completely absorbed. It's, a little _intense _to witness."

"And that's why you're worried?" Harry said, pretty sure that he should be feeling something more than apathy regarding this conversation, this topic.

He was just exhausted from hearing it a million times before, and simply exhausted.

Sirius definitely seemed pained now, uneasy and unfamiliar with this role of…parent? Was it a parental role? Harry couldn't tell, he had nothing to compare to, except…_him, _and it was too painful to think about _him _right now, too raw.

"It's not exactly normal," Sirius muttered, appearing as if it quite killed him to say such a thing.

"Yeah, well," Harry tried to dismiss it, nonchalant, "neither am I. Boy-who-lived and all that jazz…"

"Be careful." Sirius' tone had turned pleading, and that caught a hook in Harry's chest more than anything, sparking strong emotion, something.

He swallowed, hard, as Sirius released him back into the bustle of readying-for-bed activity.

Ginny stalked past him, even paler than she seemed before, somehow drained and lifeless. Harry headed for his room - he was now sharing with Tom, because most of the other's had blanched at the thought of being asleep and vulnerable in the same area as the Slytherin.

"Goodnight Padfoot…"

The way everyone was warning him off Tom was startiing to get a bit repetitive; in an ominous way.

* * *

A/N: Meh, on this chapter. I wouldn't say it's my best…I suppose liking my work was too good to last ;) Ah well, I suppose I have to slip in a self deprecating comment in here somewhere - so you know that it's me ;)Thank you for all the reviews. Next chapter is more interesting (in my head…) so at least you have something to look forward to if this was a disappointment. I'll quit while I'm ahead…

HYPED FOR MERLIN! AND DOCTOR WHO! Woooo.


	77. Chapter 76

Chapter 26:

Harry walked back into the shared room.

Tom looked around briefly when he entered, before returning his gaze to the window, staring out at the streets of London around them.

The window was open, a cool breeze flittering about the room.

Harry walked over, joining him, resting his back against the windowpane Tom was leaning his folded arms upon. Tom looked at him again. Harry raised a brow.

"What?" Tom questioned innocently, but his eyes were sparkling.

"Sirius just had a talk to me about how I should be careful around you. I don't think you made a good impression."

Tom continued to look at amused at this, though his tone was almost perfect in it's contrite worry, as was his sigh.

"Oh no, really? Should I go give him some flowers?"

Harry laughed at the image, before growing serious.

"Why were you acting like that?" he asked. "It wouldn't kill you to give them a chance."

Tom's head tilted, surveying him intently, despite the pseudo casual smile on his lips.

"Probably not, but the effort to be nice could be painful, and you're masochistic enough for the both of us." he replied.

"I'm not a-" Harry began, infuriated, before he just shook his head, folding his arms and surveying the other back, trying to ignore the word 'orbit' flittering around in his head. "Do you want to know I think?" he questioned instead.

"Not particularly," Tom said dryly, "but that's never stopped you before."

"I think you're testing them," Harry persisted, doggedly. "You're observing them, but varying your personality so they can't do it back. You can't get a handle on something that doesn't stay still."

Tom merely turned back to the window in response, neither confirming nor denying his statement, but this time, Harry was certain he was right, and grinned inwardly in silent victory.

He wandered away from the window again, burying his hands into his pockets, and it was this self- assurance and confidence that made Tom turn round to watch his movements, curiously.

Harry pulled his hand abruptly out of his pocket when he felt something smooth and cold…the locket.  
It lay innocently in his hand, the green 'S' twinkling up at him.

The self-assurance vanishing once again to a million uncertainties.

"What does the 'S' for?" he asked, in vague interest, but more to fill the silence.

"Slytherin," Tom replied. "It was my mother's."

Harry's head shot up at that, before he looked down at the locket, with two more labels, one of more significance to him than the other, to give it aside from 'Horcrux.'

"Don't you want it?" he asked, unbelieving that Tom would not - he hated his family, he'd professed desire to murder them (and had on a Voldemort timeline murdered them) but he was also riveted by his own ancestry.

Harry could understand that, as a child, he'd sit in the cupboard envisioning his family for hours on end in the gloom.

"Of course," Tom said, his voice uncharacteristically flat.

Harry held it out immediately, an offering

."Then have it, it's yours," he said. "I was going to give it to you as a Christmas present anyway, back when I thought it was still a locket." Tom made no move, merely watching him. "Tom, it's yours, take it," Harry urged, confused.

Tom smiled slightly, bitterly. "I _can't_," he said. "It's a Horcrux, which means it contains part or a variant of my soul," the elder Slytherin laughed softly, mirthlessly. "The paradox isn't in null yet, Harry. I can't touch the thing."

Harry bit his lip, an ache in his chest, before he made a spur of a moment decision that he immediately wondered if he was going to regret, but couldn't find in himself at that moment to.

He looped the locket arouund his own neck, the heavy gold settling above his heart.

"Then I'll keep hold of it until you_ can," _he said, with a ring of promise.

The 'can' rang in the air between them.

"Get some rest," Tom instructed after a moment, quietly. "You look exhausted…and keep the silencing charm down."

Harry woke up to the horribly familiar wrenching jolt of nightmarish awakenings.

Something was on his chest, something burning hot and searing and - it was gone, the screams died in his throat, his eyes tearing feverishly around the room, before fixing on Tom.

The Slytherin Heir was sitting next to him, the Horcrux levitating a couple of inches above his hand. Harry gasped deeply for breath, eyes lidded.

"I thought I told you to keep the silencing charm down," Tom snapped, harshly.

Harry struggled to sit up, blinking, a hand automatically going to the odd sensation on his chest, only for his gaze to flick down.

There was a gaping hole burnt through his t-shirt, an ugly scar across his heart.

His eyes snapped up to Tom again, and the Horcrux, his whole body shaking.

"You said it wouldn't hurt me," he said, half accusing, not sure why he felt so…betrayed.

"I also told you not to use a silencing charm," Tom spat, before his tone softened. "I had to severe the locket off your chest - here, you can have it back now." Tom dropped it into his lap, and Harry caught it automatically, though wary.

"What…er…happened?" he questioned, his breathing starting to regulate again, his throat raw from screaming.

"Silencing charm means no one can hear you screaming," Tom said lightly, too lightly, "which means no one wakes you up, which means your magic runs rampant until it tears the silencing charm in two in an effort to get you help, and generally sends out distress signals due to your pain…and when you wear a Horcrux that has the same soul and thus, the same thoughts as me, largely, presumably, it latches on to wake you up before you cause injury…a locket is a locket and can't physically shake you awake like I would…" Tom waved a hand at his chest to finish his explanation. "So keep the silencing charm down. I've told you a _thousand _bloody times."

"I've been using silencing charms for years," Harry said sullenly. "It hasn't had the effects you talk about before…well, before Slytherin. It's been fine when I wasn't in Slytherin dorm, so…" he shrugged defensively. "Besides, you didn't tell me how the Horcrux would react!"

He still felt exhausted. He just kept seeing snake attacks in his head now, along with Horcrux dreams and the normal ensemble. He looked down at the Golden Locket, lying once more in his hand, innocent and unassuming, just a limp piece of jewellery.

"Why does it even care? The diary, which I assume was your first, wouldn't have…and you'd only go more Voldemort-ish and liable to kill me from then on."

Tom frowned marginally, seeming at loss for answer for the first time in regard to the Horcruxes, before his eyes began gleaming.

"I don't know…" Tom said, "why don't we ask it?"

"What? Tom-" Harry began, panicking suddenly, as well as being absently thankful that he hadn't woken the whole house up.

"_**Open."**_

* * *

A/N: So it, er, shorter again, but not too shabby in content, right? ;) Thanks for all the reviews, much much much appreciation. They fuel my ridiculous update speed. Did you guys see Merlin and the Doctor Who finale? :O I was/am hyped. Yay! Can't wait for Merlin next week…and Doctor Who, was of course, brilliant. Adios! 

With my ridiculous updating, I think i've found a pattern...the fastest updates are either when I want to find out what happens next in the story, pr when I'm not particuarly fond (more so than my normal self criticism) and want to put it behind me. Hum. Interesting. You guys didn't really need to know that...heh.


	78. Chapter 77

Chapter 77: 

Harry scrambled back away from the Locket as it immediately flipped open, black smoke pouring from it and into the room, like a living shadow.

Tom reached over, yanking him over to him, awkwardly, as a figure formed from the blackness.

It was humanoid, he could see that, and so utterly dark but for the bloody eyes that seared at them from had to have been the Horcrux's face.

He heard Tom inhale sharply, staring at the figure…shadow…before them.

What number Horcrux must something be to look like this? It was awful.

He had this creature around his neck…this was a _Tom_…he could hardly stand to look at it, and yet, he couldn't look away.

It seemed to study them both for a moment, before speaking, its voice soft, its eyes cold with hatred.

"Have you opened my prison to release me? In which case, hurry brother, or simply to gawp at me like an uneducated mudblood might?" it questioned, tone neutral but infused with an ice that sent chills down Harry's spine.

"Brother?" the question slipped past Harry's lips without thought.

It glanced at him, with the gaze of a serial-killer surgeon, assessing the best way to dissect him, but did not respond.

"Answer his questions as you must mine," Tom ordered, quietly, studying the shadowy form, gradually gaining shape before them.

The Horcrux bowed mockingly, dripping with derision, before speaking in clipped tones.

"We are the same - our souls are related, but we are not twins, for he is whole and in flux, so I call him my brother, as I may call _you,_ if I am to address you," it said.

"You don't like me," Harry noted, tone flat.

"You are inferior," it sneered. Harry arched his brows at that, liking the thing less and less. In what world had Tom thought this was a good idea?

"And yet you do not show intent to harm him," Tom stated, before he could snap back at the creature, searching the Horcrux with the same vicious, relentless intensity with which it studied them. "Why not?"

"Because you would destroy me if I did," it spat. "Your life is not tied to mine, as the other one's is."

Harry swallowed, slightly. He didn't find that to be the most reassuring reason behind his continued existence, nor the most stable.

Tom's expression was unreadable, even as the scarlet eyes glared daggers in his direction.

Meanwhile, Harry was thinking furiously at what it had said; if Tom's life wasn't bound to the Horcruxes (he had a complete soul, after all, they were Voldemort's) than why had he suddenly got so possessive? And why did he care so much that Harry was a Horcrux?

Tom seemed thoughtful too, though Harry would wager his bank account that it was for different reasons. The Horcrux gave them both a disgusted look, before beginning to wander around the room, Harry summoned Hedwig's cage when the thing approached it. It turned to look at him again and Harry smiled at it, coldly.

The Horcrux turned back to Tom, sharply, seemingly unable to stand looking at Harry for more than a few scant seconds.

"His name is Harry," Tom said, watching the Horcrux carefully, something in his gaze.

"I know who he is," the Horcrux said, equally quiet. "I know your story, your _tragedy, _for it is mine too._"_ Harry's eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean tragedy?" he asked, a feeling of forbidding in his gut, wishing he could see more features upon the shadow then just those flaming eyes. It didn't reply.

"Speak," Tom commanded, repeating Harry's own question. "What do you mean tragedy?"

"If you know the answer, I need not tell you, if you don't, then I cannot," it responded, infuriatingly now. Harry expected Tom to demand again, but the Slytherin Heir merely studied his shadow with dark eyes.

"Does that mean you know the answer?" Harry asked him, dreading the response. Tom glanced at him, expression uncharacteristically tender.

"You lie," Tom told the Horcrux, vehement. Bloody eyes glittered, cruelly, in return.

"Perhaps, but perhaps not, you shall not know until the dye has been cast and the tale of the _Slytherin Duo _has spun its last," it replied, in the exact cheerful, almost sing song voice Tom himself had used with the Order.

Tom's face twisted into a snarl, his wand swishing up, but before the incantation had begun the Horcrux had disappeared back into the Locket with a shriek of sound, and a rattle as the lid slammed shut. It lay on the floor between them, looking innocent. Harry drew in a deep breath, knocked of balance that all this had occured in so small a time.

"Tom-" he began. The other's grip tightened on his arm, wordless, but he continued regardless. "The answer…he was referring to the Remembrall, wasn't he? You opened it -"

"-Leave it, Harry. **He's lying, **we do that sometimes**.**"

"If he's lying," Harry said stubbornly, "then why are you reacting so-"

"Harry, _please._"

Harry did fall silent at that, at that word. Tom wouldn't look at him, releasing his arm and striding towards the window, and opening it, staring out onto the streets of London again.

Harry, cautiously, went to stand beside him, watching him warily.

He wanted to continue the conversation, to point out that they could look in the Remembrall one more time, but that 'please' was echoing in his ears - that soft, desperate, unheard of from Tom, word. Tom didn't say that word, ever! He ordered a conversation to end, and remained resolutely unresponsive if Harry carried on regardless.

He searched for a way to fill the silence, to smooth out the lines of tension cutting into the young Dark Lord's jaw and neck.

"Well, I always knew you wouldn't be able to stand yourself," he said finally. "Now you know how the rest of us feel."

Tom didn't smile, but some of that tension did ease, as the other spun to face him.

"What exactly are you trying to insinuate about my personality traits, golden boy?" Tom questioned.

Harry grinned, putting his best efforts into it, and shrugged carelessly, letting Tom think the answers up for himself. Tom rolled his eyes. Harry's grin vanished after a moment.

"Tom," he began, and though nigh unnoticeable, he noticed the tension return to the other in seconds.

"Harry?"

"If the Horcruxes do nothing for you, why did you," he paused, "you know, when you found out I was one…you…" the tension had drained out Tom once more, just as suddenly as it had come, as the other arched a brow at his awkward fumbling for words, though his emotions were indecipherable.

"If you know the answer, I need not tell you," Tom said, appraising him, mirthless, before a small smirk graced his lips,"if you do not…then you are an idiot."

"Bastard," Harry accused mildly.

Tom smiled.

* * *

A/N: Well, erm, you would not believe how difficult this chapter was to write…so many ideas…only one scene. Anyway, I hope it turned out okay. Thank you for the reviews. I shall go have a slight life now…;) 


	79. Chapter 78

Chapter 78:

It was a couple of hours before Mr Weasley's funeral, and though Harry knew intellectually that he should probably be with the Weasley's, he was sitting with Tom by the window overlooking London.

It seemed to be Tom's favourite spot in the house.

His black suit felt stiff and claustrophobic, an his tie was choking him. Tom was quiet too, subdued from the conversation with the Horcrux two nights back.

Neither of them had worn the Locket since, but they kept it close nonetheless.

"Tom, you know we'd still be able to see what's in the remembrall, if you wanted," he said, not knowing the words were going to be released from his tongue until they hung in the silence between them.

Tom's head angled in his direction, making Harry quickly continue.

"We could work around whatever the 'tragedy' is, together," he said.

Tom's lip curled upwards slightly, but his gaze was intense, and Harry got the feeling that he was being searched for something. He kept still, staring back curiously, social norms damned a long time ago.

"Stubborn," Tom murmured, eyeing him. Harry smiled, just slightly.

"You've said that before," he replied. Tom was quiet for a moment.

"Do you believe in Alternate Universes?" he asked, suddenly.

Harry frowned, some instinct warning him of this conversation, though his mind could scarcely fathom as to why.

"Y-" he began to give his affirmative, automatically, after all, if time travel was possible, so must be Alternate Universes…but then he stopped. His mind flashed back to Third Year, the time turner, and everything that happened. That had been indicative of only one time stream.

The sense of _bad _was growing in his chest.

"I don't," Tom offered quietly, as if sensing the 'no' in his lack of response. "There is only one time stream, that's why it has always been said that it is so dangerous to meddle with time…you could end up deleting yourself and your world from ever existing."

Harry swallowed. _He_ was trying to change the past in a big way, he was trying to prevent Voldemort. He looked at Tom, sharply. The other leaned forwards slightly, seeming to somehow know when he'd reached his conclusion.

"If Voldemort never happens, this whole world, your whole life, will cease to exist," Tom continued. "Everything will be gone. The Weasley's, the Slytherins, the Death Eaters…everything will be changed for something new. _You will die._"

There was a relentlessness in Tom's tone now, a dangerous urgency that forced Harry's attention.

"None of this would ever have happened. We never meet as we are, now."

Harry bit his lip, meeting Tom's gaze squarely.

"So be it," he said weakly, "if the new world is better - it's not like I'd be able to tell the difference, would it?" he laughed, nervously.

"No," Tom said quietly, "but I would."

Harry couldn't tear his gaze away, for the life of him he couldn't, transfixed.

"Tom-" he began, helplessly.

"You are in denial that Voldemort and I could be the same person," Tom continued ruthlessly, cutting over him, "because you cannot _bear_ the idea that he and I could ever be the same, that everything here would go to waste, that he cannot seem to remember any of it when you so clearly can and it _hurts_ you, so you deny it, because you have to."

Harry clenched his fists, his jaw tight, breathing shallowly.

"You wouldn't let this whole country go to magical civil war just to keep-" he started.

"-I would let the whole world burn before I willingly let go of you and these memories," Tom said, no embellishments in his voice, nothing, just that dark gaze fixed on his with a deadly intensity. "You may have a hero-complex big enough to destroy yourself, but I'm shall we say less selflessly inclined…I'm a psychopath."

Harry's thoughts spun to Tom's definition and words, twisted in a thousand different ways and variations, essentially falling down to the simple cold fact that Tom put himself above everyone else, always. His breath caught in his throat as Tom smiled, humourlessly.

"I am the most selfish person you will ever meet Harry, don't fool yourself into thinking that I would ever destroy Voldemort when it simultaneously destroys you, even if I may be willing to otherwise let the persona go if you asked me to."

"Careful," Harry murmured, looking to relieve the suffocating tension in the room, "I might start getting the impression you're in love with me or something, with all these _passionate_ declarations."

"No," Tom replied, flatly, "I just have an obsessive personality and I'm not disposed to let the only friend I've ever had not just _murder_ himself, but wipe himself into total oblivion so he was never even real."

"And I could never watch you become Voldemort," Harry snapped, "especially not on my behalf. I _hate _him! You **know **that! I could never forgive you."

"Which, my dear," Tom said, dryly, bitterly, "is why this is a tragedy."

Harry felt sick, nausea bubbling in his stomach like a one of Neville's disastrous potions. He looked away, unable to hold that unyielding gaze any longer, letting his head fall into his hands to escape it.

"So what, you go back in time to become Voldemort because that's the only way I exist, as I am? In case you hadn't bloody well noticed, he - you - are trying to kill me anyway and don't give a _damn -_" Harry tore his hands out of his hair in frustration, glaring at Tom. "Forget it. I won't let you. I forbid it. You're not doing it. I'd rather die."

Tom stared at him, unmoved.

"And we're back to the fact that unlike you, I am quite selfish enough to let the whole world go to hell for this, whatever _this _is, because frankly the world sucks anyway and it really doesn't make much of a difference, and honestly, it's not like I have that much opposition to Voldemort's views."

"You don't," Harry growled, "but I do! Damn it, Tom, you do NOT get to choose this for me. I'd freaking shoot myself-"

"-And if you dare, I'd do it just to spite you," Tom said, irritation in his voice now. "You raging hypocrite, you're trying to ease your own guilt and life by making sure Voldemort never happens, but would begrudge me from doing the same."

"I'm not doing it for my guilt," Harry yelled, his temper past fraying point, "I'm doing it because I don't want to see someone I care about turn into a heartless, pathetic monster!"

Tom stared at him, frozen, before speaking, the harshness gone from his features to be replaced by something far more painful: fondness.

That uncharacteristic affection that screamed of the differences between Voldemort and Tom.

"Ever the hero, Harry. I should think you'd be at least somewhat appreciative of the fact that I'm saving your life, and more, your world, your friends lives too…but I suppose you always were on the self-destructive side."

"And I thought," Harry said, praying his voice wasn't choking up or something ridiculous, "that you had enough self preservation not to do something as "foolishly sentimental" as sacrificing yourself for a world on the brink of war, where I and many others are liable to die anyway, under your wand."

Tom stared at him quietly for a moment.

"It's just as well I'm still in this time until at least the end of this year, I have time to make sure you accept the necessity of this happening.

""It's just as well I have time to persuade you to change your mind. **This isn't how the story ends."**

Tom sighed, squeezing his shoulder as he brushed past.

"Go and find your friends, Harry. I have some errands to run, we can talk about this later."

* * *

A/N: I was going to put the funeral in this chapter too, but this seemed like a good place to stop. Thank you for the reviews, I am now going to go hide until I next surface with a chapter…and eek, i'm nervous that this is going to be completely...anticlimatic or something. I shall go skulk and do work like i was supposed to be doing this. In my defense, I wanted to know what happened...

* * *

FIC RECOMMENDATIONS :

I got asked lots for Dark!Twin!Harry fanfiction

Harry Has A Twin Who Is Wrongly Hailed As The Boy Who Lived, Harry is Ignored And Neglected By Their Parents And Goes Dark

Non-Slash Dark!Harry fic reccomendations, so….

For something unusual, Dark Cyan Stars "His Slytherin Descendents." A wrong sibling favoured fic, but not Boy Who Lived….

Wrong Boy who Lived community = /community/Wrong_BoyWhoLived/18135/ 

(I forget what I've read, unless it is was outstanding, but you should find something good here, some of the names ring strong bells…but I've heard Darkly Treacherous is supposed to be quite good…along with "One's most hated name")

Welcome To Hogwarts 1949 and in the Darkness binds them, both start 'light' as Harry gets darker, though they are WIP But they're excellent.

Out of the Night, by Raining Ink…dark, but side not certain I don't think…

The Weapon Revised! By QTuani7, on the light side, but definitely not light. ) Kurinoone's series, kinda…Harry is most definitely dark, but…

Time To Spare by EmySabath.

Lord of Caer Azkaban, I remember to be quite good, but not much else. I read it ages back, but yeah, if the name stuck in my head…

I've been told Dark as Night by Lavender Storm is good, though I can't remember if I've read it myself…

* * *

I forget what I've read, honestly, unless I found it truly exceptional and kept returning back to it, and I largely favour Slytherin Harry and grey Harry, not necessarily dark…I'll get back to you if I remember any more…or I any of you guys have some recommendations that I should offer out…


	80. Chapter 79

Chapter 79:

He sat in the second row at the funeral, next to Sirius and Remus. It was a quiet, small affair, largely limited to the Weasley's and close members of the Order.

Dumbledore was there too. Harry's tie seemed to be constricting around his neck, growing tighter and tighter until he felt like he couldn't breathe, his head spinning as he watched people making speeches through tears and rigid stoicism. Was it the tie, or the lump in his throat that blocked his airways?

Sirius hand was on his shoulder; the only grounding thing in the world.

_My father was a great, loyal man…_

The words of individual Weasley's blurred past his ears, sounding like they were being issued from underwater. He felt nauseas, his head stuffed full to exploding point, making it difficult to concentrate. He felt numb.

_And I know that he will be remembered, in the ways that it matters…_

Yes, he would always remember Mr Weasley, and the way he'd ask random enthusiastic questions about aeroplanes and the functions of rubber ducks with complete solemnity. The way he had shown Harry what it was like to have a family, the way he had treated Harry like one of his own.

He would NEVER forget that.

_Because he was brave, and he died in the most honourable, noblest of ways…_

A snake attack…what was honourable about a snake attack? There was clearly something that the Order was keeping to themselves, but Harry felt sick even contemplating wondering why, now.

He stared blankly ahead of him, unseeing, Molly's sobbing catching on a tight hook inside his chest, scraping against his heart. His fingers curled into fists, his body rigid as he repressed the urge to shake with all the emotions that were wrestling for dominance in his insides….so many emotions, and yet he was so numb. They were distant hurts, separate to his own, a tsunami kept at bay by the fragile veils of his composure.

_He died defending what he believed in. _

Harry didn't know what to believe in anymore.

They returned back to Grimmauld Place after the funeral - a cremation - for the Weasley's couldn't afford…Harry had offered to pay for the arrangements, but no one had let him.

The cremation, Harry suspected, was also to avoid the chance of being raised again as an inferi for Voldemort, but Harry kept quite about that.

Fred and George were laughterless, and Molly was clutching the empty urn so tight Harry feared it would shatter. Ginny was being hugged crushingly by a haggard, grouchy looking old crone, whom Harry had heard been referred to as 'Great Auntie Muriel.' Ron was pale, lacking in life, clinging to Hermione.

When they walked in, Harry stopped dead at the sight before him.

Moody was scowling, muttering curses, clutching a handkerchief to his bleeding nose. Dumbledore strode forward immediately, eyes glinting.

"Alastor, old friend, what happened? Where's Mr Riddle?"

If this was what he thought it was, Harry's tenuous self control was going to snap. This week had been just slightly on the crap side, and his patience wasn't at its utmost.

"The little bastard cursed me," Moody growled. "I'll kill him, I'll kill him when he comes back-"

"He left?" Dumbledore demanded, "where? When?"

It sounded like what Harry thought he was, and a cold ice of fury flooded his insides, cracking barriers to release a Dark Side he had rarely let come to play since returning to this time period - he'd been too bothered with maintaining his connections with the Light.

"Oh?" he questioned, coolly, "I didn't realise that concerned either of you. Is he a prisoner that is not allowed to come and go as he pleases?"

"Harry-" Dumbledore began, in his grandfatherly voice, with strains of frustration.

"You know," Harry interrupted, in a light, thoughtful tone of voice, "I'm surprised he only broke your nose, if you were trying to prevent him for leaving…were you?"

"He is the Dark Lord, Potter," Moody snarled, "of course we not going to allow him free reign and come and go at Headquarters. CONSTANT VIGILANCE."

"Well, with you lot it kind of seems like he doesn't have the option to be anything else," Harry snapped back, equally angry.

He'd just been at a funeral - could the universe honestly not give him a break? Without piling crap on him constantly? It seemed not.

"He's not stupid," he continued, tightly, "and psychopathic nature regardless, he can actually tell what you think about him. He's not going to change if you don't let him."

"He's not going to change anyway!" Moody growled, taking an advanced step towards him, wand starting to raise higher.

Harry noticed the Weasley's were looking extremely uncomfortable, even in their subdued state. Moody stopped suddenly, staring over his shoulder.

Harry felt the magic before he turned around, but did so anyway, to see that Tom had indeed returned from his 'errands' and was leaning against the door, tapping his wand casually against his thigh.

He really did have impeccable timing; Harry often wondered if he had a device that told him when the most dramatic moment to arrive would be.

Dark eyes were scanning the situation, alight with possibilities and split second reaction times. Tom gave Moody a cursive glance, smirking lazily.

"Nice face," the Slytherin Heir remarked. The Auror bristled, a probably dangerous spell on his lips, and Harry moved automatically.

It was only when everyone gaped at him, that he realised that he had stepped to stand between Mad Eye's wand and Tom.

He couldn't bring himself to care; too furious, too _tired._

"Either of you freaking start and I _will _kill you," he said dangerously, not even sure himself on exactly how serious he was about that. "This week has had enough death without you two getting into a pissing competition with each other and adding to it."

Tom's eyebrow arched slightly at his choice of words, but the yew and phoenix feather didn't lower. Neither did Moody's. Harry's aura sparked.

"Wands away, now," he hissed.

"You can't tell me what to do, _Evans,_" Moody snarled, wand aiming at his heart.

"Alastor," Dumbledore said sharply. "Enough. This is enough. Mr Potter is right, now is not the time."

The Headmaster gave a half glance at the Weasley's, still despondant and largely drained of energy, and Sirius and Remus, both looking ready to blow at the Auror for pointing a wand at Harry.

There was a tense moment, then Mad Eye lowered his wand, magic eye rocketing wildly in his eyes, before both fixed on Tom with a deadly intensity.

"I'll be keeping my eyes on you, boy," Moody warned, limping past with an air of fury.

Tom smirked, seemingly nonchalant, calling over his shoulder to the Auror has he sauntered further into the room.

"I hope you don't mind if I don't return the favour…I prefer that which is more aesthetically pleasing."

The door slammed shut in response, violently, eliciting a flinch from Ginny, who was immediately pulled closer by...it was Charlie, wasn't it?

"May I have a word, Mr Potter?" Dumbledore asked, coolly.

The Headmaster didn't wait for a reply, walking past and taking hold of his arm with a surprising strength, pulling him into the living room. He felt Tom's gaze burning like lasers into his back, and shot back a pointed 'don't do anything' glare.

Yay. What a great week.

* * *

A/N: This chapter was horrendously difficult to write. I wish I could just skip it. I hate it, t'is deplorable. I have come to the conclusion that the only chapters I can write are those that revolve around Tom and Harry. Thank god that is the main point of this fic. 

On the sunny side; thank you for the reviews, the next chapter should/WILL be better (how can it _not_ be?) and…it's my birthday on Thursday! Wooo…heh, that request was a bit early, I underestimated by insane updating, anyway…and no, that wasn't a repeat of my earlier request, I'm not that ungrateful, just hyper. 

The next chapter should be up soon enough, if that placates you at all from…this. I will refrain from calling it a proper chapter…

Adios! 


	81. Chapter 80

Chapter 80:

The door to the living room shut behind them, and Harry folded his arms, still keeping a tight grip on his wand.

"Take a seat," Dumbledore instructed, dropping elegantly upon a sofa.

"I'll stand, thanks," Harry said coldly, still angry at what he had returned to. The Headmaster sighed, sounding bone tired, but didn't push. "What did you want to talk to me about?" Harry questioned, staring at the other.

Dumbledore laced his fingers together beneath his chin.

"Have you thought any more about my offer for private lessons?" the old man returned.

"That would depend on what the lessons entailed," Harry said, trying to suppress the curiosity that had got him into trouble so many times before. "And what your reasons for offering them so suddenly are."

"They are about Horcruxes," Dumbledore stated flatly, "and the war, and what we will need if we are to prevent Voldemort from winning this war…that is, if you are still interesting in standing against Voldemort?"

"Of course I am," Harry snapped.

Dumbledore nodded, eyeing him with an unreadable expression.

"Then you will agree to the lessons - bearing in mind you _cannot_ share their contents with Mr Riddle?"

"Tom's not Voldemort," Harry rebutted, immediately, feeling his voice growing icier once more.

"I do not wish to get into an argument with you again," Dumbledore said quietly, "but even you must surely realise that nor is he against Lord Voldemort and his stance? As such, it would be unwise to share the contents of the lessons, your own personal…feelings aside. So, you will take the lessons?"

But Harry was distracted now.

"What do you mean my _feelings_?" he questioned. "Just to clarify."

"I mean," Dumbledore returned calmly, "your romantic attachments to Mr Riddle."

Salazar. He could not believe this, nor did he want to.

"I trust," Dumbledore continued, "that you would not let them impede your ability to function in this war, if Tom were to become Voldemort?"

Harry noted the 'if' immediately, but didn't dare attribute it to anything more or less than the Headmaster's famous capabilities for diplomacy.

For a claimed Gryffindor, Dumbledore could be sly and subtle too.

"Just to clarify," Dumbledore added, serenely, but there was just a little something in his voice…something that spoke of memories.

Harry got the urge to burst into maniacal, hysterical laughter, and barely managed to avoid the temptation by pressing his lips together tightly…let Dumbledore think it was fury, he didn't care.

He was just…seriously? He smiled, grimly.

"You sound as if you speak from experience, headmaster? Don't tell me you had a relationship with your students, that's just disgusting!"

It was cruel of him, but he was feeling vicious, and he had the pleasure of watching Dumbledore pale to a startling green colour of skin.

"I can assure you," Dumbledore spat, seeming to lose his temper, "that I have never had nor would I have what you are suggesting with one of my-" Dumbledore for once, seemed to stunned for words.

Harry felt a brief flash of guilt, but squashed it instantly.

"No need to be so flustered, professor…and I'll take those lessons. Good day, headmaster."

He walked out with a spring of success in his step.

Damned curiosity.

Harry walked into the hall to find that, largely, no one had moved…and Bill was berating the Weasley twins who were holding the fleshy strings of Extendable Ears in their hands.

Molly had disappeared, into the kitchen if the clashing of pots and pans were anything to go by.

"What did Dumbledore want?" Tom began, only to have the Headmaster walk out, looking noticeably more collected than he had a few moments prior.

Harry almost smirked, though the urge vanished when Dumbledore beamed at him as he stepped towards to door, tilting his crooked hat to them all in farewell.

"Our lessons will start after the Christmas Holidays, Harry. I am so happy to see you embracing the light side again," the old man said cheerfully, patting him on the shoulder.

He felt Tom's eyes snap to him, murderous, but ignored it for the sake of grinning at the Headmasters back and calling out his own spiteful comeback.

"Careful Albus, you'll make my _boyfriend _jealous!"

Everyone stared at him with incredulous eyes.

He saw the Headmaster's back stiffen completely, his walk sauntering for a split second, and grinned. It was sick, completely wrong and sick…but the reaction was hilarious.

Tom was a bad influence on him.

But Dumbledore did have some experience with something, and Harry intended to find out what, though he sincerely believed Dumbledore wouldn't be with his students...that was just...eugh.

He repeated; Tom was a bad influence on him.

The door slammed shut for the second time that night, causing Molly to rush back in, wild eyed.

"Was that the Headmaster leaving? I was going to ask if he wanted some tea…?"

"I think he was in a bit of a hurry actually," Harry frowned, mildly. "Can't think why, really."

"Oh," Molly said, looking troubled. "Well, I'll get a start on dinner then."

The Weasley matriarch's lip trembled, probably at the remembrance that her husband wouldn't be joining her. Her hands began to shake.

Harry's eyes widened, the darkness abruptly boxed up at the sight.

"It's alright," he said, quickly, "I can make dinner. I'm a good cook, honest…you take a bit of time for yourself, okay?"

"I couldn't-" Mrs Weasley began, but there was a glimmer of temptation, of hope, to be allowed to escape the reminder for just a little while, to be allowed and acknowledged in her grief.

"Sure you can," Harry smiled. "It's no trouble. I enjoy cooking."

"Well," Molly hesitated, "if you really want, dear, that's very sweet of you." She patted his cheek clumsily in affection, tottering towards the stairs. "I think I'll go have a nice lie down…"

Harry shot Ron a pointed look to go with her, or any of her family, to keep her company. To his surprise, or maybe not, it was the Weasley twins that jumped into action, wrapping arms around their mother and going with her, gentle looks upon their faces.

Harry headed for the kitchen, aware that Tom was following close on his heels, and that Sirius and Remus were not far behind.

He walked over to the counters, opening cupboards to see what was in. He could feel Sirius and Remus giving each other pointed looks, as if arguing who was going to speak.

Harry anticipated the question, rolling his eyes and wondering if he should put them out of their misery and tell them their answer before they asked. Nah…

Tom was radiating fury too, but his voice was mild, his personality characterised by a self control that would wait until later before tearing into a ruthless twenty-one questions routine about Dumbledore and what he wanted and meant.

"You cook?" the Slytherin Heir asked instead, leaning against the counter next to the one he was pulling ingredients out on.

"No, I just toss stuff in and pray that I'm doing it right and won't give anyone food poisoning," Harry replied sarcastically. Tom sneered at him, and Harry smirked.

"Harry," Sirius began, abruptly, having apparently been forced by Remus to do the talking as he was Harry's Godfather.

"Padfoot?" he questioned, before ordering Tom to get him the pasta out of the cupboards - causing the other to shoot him an incredulous, indignant expression at being demanded to fetch things like a household. Harry simply arched his brows, and Tom summoned the pasta, slamming it onto the counter between them.

"Is he - are you -" Sirius sounded utterly uncomfortable. Harry's lips twitched with amusement, and Remus seemed to finally take pity on his best friend.

"So, you two are a couple? When did this happen? You didn't mention it…before," the werewolf questioned, seeming to suddenly come to the realisation of the awkwardness of what he was asking halfway through. "I…I didn't realise you-"

"Fancied guys?" Harry offered politely.

"That," Sirius muttered.

"I don't," Harry said, shooting a smirk at them over his shoulder. "And we're not a couple. I was just messing with Dumbledore."

There was a silence.

"Oh," Remus said.

"So you're not-?" Sirius started.

"No," Harry said.

"Okay. Well, that's good, I mean-" Sirius shot Tom a glance, "it would be good…fine…either way. Whatever you want."

Tom was regarding the two with a derisive glint to his eyes, before he abruptly walked out of the kitchen in a clear sign of what he thought of this 'emotional' conversation.

Harry's smirk broadened, before he abruptly wiped it to innocence when Tom stuck his head into the kitchen again, a different sort of glint to his eyes now.

"You know Lestrange is going to kill you, don't you, sweetheart?"

Who would have believed it was the day before Christmas Eve.

* * *

A/N: To follow the pattern of updating particularly fast when I didn't like the previous chapter…Thanks for the reviews, much appreciated.

ht t ps:/ docs. google. com/leaf?id= &hl=en_USß Awesome Fan Wallpaper by Krysania, for Fate's Favourite. Check it out, I feel loved! 3

(you'll have to put the address together, FF wouldn't let me post it otherwise...)

Hope you enjoyed the chapter :)


	82. Chapter 81

Chapter 81:

"Lestrange? You know a Lestrange?" Sirius demanded, staring at him. "Why is she going to kill you?"

"She?" Harry questioned, snickering at the thought of a Cygnus' face at being described as a 'she'. "What Lestrange do you know? Tom was talking about - well, I presume he was - about Cygnus Lestrange…I've mentioned him? The sycophantic twat who hates my guts?"

Remus seemed to stifle a snort. Sirius' face relaxed marginally.

"Bellatrix Lestrange, my cousin, recently broken out of Azkaban. Total bitch. Stay away from her," Sirius replied, waving a dismissive hand. "Why's this Cygnus boy going to kill you?"

The tension was back at the words 'kill' and 'you.' Harry laughed.

"Figure of speech - he fancies Tom. So, you know, if he finds out that I said Tom was my boyfriend…I assume Tom was joking about the killing me bit….though you never quite know, he's a twisted one. Don't worry about it."

Sirius studied him for a moment, eyes menacing and suddenly reminding Harry of Alphard, whom was a lot darker than the Gryffindor before him.

"I'd like to see him try," was all his Godfather said, before grinning a dazzling grin. "So, cub, where'd you learn to cook?"

The rest of the day went relatively well - Tom even deigned to associate with his 'light' friends, well, some of them (Hermione, Sirius, Remus and the twins) - but Harry could still sense the carefully controlled rage under the other's charming façade.

As such, he kept his wand close when he wandered into their joint room that night, for that was when Tom would lash out. Keeping a cautious eye out on the other as he crossed the room, getting ready for bed.

The house was quiet, with only the murmurings of voices from different rooms, punctuated by the occasional exclamation at something Fred and George were up to.

"What lessons are you having with Dumbledore?" Tom questioned, suddenly, or maybe not so.

"Textiles," Harry replied promptly, not looking up. "Have you seen his robes? They're fabulous."

His left arm suddenly burned, violently, pulling him to a stop from where he was heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Harry's eyes flashed towards the Slytherin Heir, automatically.

The other's appraisal was cold, and Harry realised instantly with a sickening clarity that Tom had switched from Tom to…well, the Dark Lord.

In an odd way, Harry could almost understand. If he was 'embracing the light' again he wasn't just affecting Tom, he was affecting his cause, the Dark Side and everything that Tom stood for…so the other switched, because this was Tom acting in his "official" capacity, not as Harry's friend…confidant…whatever Tom was to him. He hated understanding. Still.

"You know," he said dangerously, "I'm not actually on the Dark side, however much time I've spent with you, you must know that. You have no reason to treat me like this."

Tom walked towards him, lazily, content in the knowledge that Harry couldn't move from the spot.

Harry got the overwhelming urge to fold his arms, and cursed the mark.

Of course, he was happy that Sirius was alive, and he'd make the deal all over again if he went back to the moment, but that didn't mean it wasn't incredibly frustrating and horribly controlling. He settled for raising his eyebrows.

"**I'll ask one more time, because I like you, what are your lessons with Dumbledore?" **Tom questioned again.

Harry tilted his head, scrunching his face thoughtfully, letting the conversation run to oppressive silence before he shrugged.

"Gobbledygook," he declared decisively, fully aware that the boundaries with his relation to the Dark Side had been far less explored and defined then his relationship with Tom, as an individual. "It's so I can parlay with the goblins, for the light," he added, with a slight hint of taunt in his voice.

It was a bad week. He couldn't help it, no more than he could resist antagonising Dumbledore, and Tom was even more fascinating to play with.

The young Dark Lord's wand was in his hand instantly, pressing against Harry's temple in a blur of movement, the Legilimens spell forming like a whisper on the other's lips.

Harry used his free hand to push the yew away, more gently now, before the incantation was done, his fingers curling around Tom's wrist in the rigid grip that the Slytherin Heir himself so favoured.

"My stance hasn't changed, Tom - I'm not on the light side, but I'm not on the dark either, I want Voldemort _dead_…and I think, all things considered, that it would therefore be impractical for me to discuss this war, or any matters relating to it, with you."

Harry paused, studying the unreadable gaze fixed on him.

"I'm sure you can understand that," he continued. "Release my arm, you gain nothing from holding me to this spot."

He let go of Tom's wrist again, letting his hand return to his side, near where his wand rested in his pocket. Tom studied him carefully.

"Why didn't you just say that?" the other demanded, something in his voice.

Harry's lip curled upwards slightly in a smirk.

"Because I like baiting you," he offered. "Why, did I touch a nerve?"

It felt like snake coils were crushing his forearm, but before he could even react to the pain outside of noting its presence, it was gone, and his arm was entirely free.

He tugged the appendage to his chest, automatically, protectively, staring at Tom a moment longer. The other didn't shift his gaze either, but then Harry turned to go to the bathroom down the hall.

When he returned, Tom seemed to have calmed down rather noticeably calmed down, and was sitting by the radiator, a book in his hands…the Horcrux book.

Harry frowned, but Tom was already placing it aside, tilting his head that he should come sit by it. It was nearing midnight, and the curtains were draped heavily across the window that Tom normally sought.

Harry hesitated, and Tom raised a brow, as if to say 'I could just drag you over here.' Rolling his eyes in response, he came over, huddling against the radiator for warmth.

He didn't know why, but if there was heat in a room, he just gravitated towards it, even if he wasn't cold. Maybe it was because warmth was a luxury to him, after knowing the cold.

He picked up the Horcrux book, to see what Tom was reading, to find that the other boy was reading the section on blood magic.

He wrinkled his nose, casting Tom a glance.

The young Dark Lord merely regarded him with a mildly amused expression in response.

"I suppose I know what type of material to get you for Christmas," Harry muttered.

"You've already given me a Christmas present," Tom remarked.

"Birthday then," Harry said. Tom's lips curved into the smallest of smiles.

"And there was me hoping you'd just ask me what I wanted again, it's so much more interesting than the book…and the book is rather fascinating," Tom added. Harry chuckled despite himself.

"You're such a Ravenclaw."

"And you're such a Gryffindor," Tom retorted, as if being a lion was something insulting.

"Thanks," Harry grinned, "it's nice to know I am not completely exempt from my own kind." Tom sat up straighter, appraisal becoming rather more intent.

"You still view the Gryffindors as your own kind? What about the Slytherins?"

Harry realised what he'd just walked into and almost face palmed, but in the end just shrugged, looking at his watch. It was a few minutes to midnight, to Christmas Eve.

He told Tom, causing the other's expression to soften marginally.

"You're a fan of Christmas, then?" Tom questioned, eyes drinking in details.

"I suppose so, yeah," Harry said, largely used to the scrutiny by now, though it still made him feel like everyone else had dropped of the face of the earth. "It's fun when you celebrate with the right people…" he paused, regarding Tom intently. "You don't seem too fond of the celebration?"

"The affair seems slightly pointless and prodigal, among other things" Tom returned, quietly. Harry's brow furrowed.

"You don't enjoy receiving presents?" he questioned, startling a laugh from the Slytherin Heir for some reason, and making him smile slightly himself despite his confusion as to why Tom found that question entertaining.

He was curious beyond words to get more morsels of knowledge, given freely and directly, rather than through second hand sources, though he didn't expect Tom to respond to his questioning. Despite veils of disrespect, he did appreciate the rareness of Tom talking about his past or more personal thoughts.

Harry was just utterly fascinated…and that probably wasn't something he should admit, even in the relative safety of his own head…too Death Eaterish in its obsession.

"That would depend on the gift, and the intent behind it," Tom said. "What about you? I never took you as someone materialistic?"

"When you grow up with little, you learn to cherish new things," Harry admitted, before immediately withdrawing slightly with a grin, as the topic strayed a bit too close to the topic of his childhood 'abuse'. "It's a bit of fun," he dismissed, "and a nice way of showing your friends you care."

"Maybe I just haven't found the right people yet," Tom said softly, gaze unreadable.

"Well," Harry replied, tone equally soft, "tell me if you have any luck with that."

He looked down at his watch again, before back up at Tom with a grin.

"It's Christmas Eve…well, day…well…" he trailed off as Tom started to laugh, scowling. "Be quiet! People are trying to go to sleep!" he hissed, glancing anxious looks at the walls of the rooms.

Tom smirked at him.

"Ever eloquent, darling…happy 'Christmas Eve, well day, well' then to you."

"You think you're so funny don't you…" Harry accused.

But he was still smiling.

* * *

A/N: New chapter =) Enjoy. Might be the last for a couple of days, who knows. I hope yo like it. Do you reckon Tom has got Harry a Christmas present? And what do you think it'll be? Thanks for the reviews, you can thank them, and Eos9's awesome writing skills and update, for having this chapter now instead of at the weekend. Enjoy? 

PS: Do you guys want a reward for 1500 reviews? PM/Review with ideas/requests ;) 

Wow, this story is getting so long i'm starting to feel slightly stupid writing it, as if I can't be more concise...or don't have a life...=/ meh.


	83. Chapter 82

Chapter 82:

He was in Malfoy Manor…he thought he was anyway…the elaborate setting was similar to house he'd visited that one time in the past.

Mr and Mrs Malfoy had promptly tried to throw him amount due to his 'filthy halfblood' status, but relented to their son's requests. Fun times, that.

It looked like Malfoy Manor, but he wasn't sure. There were a lot of rooms, and he'd only been in a few during his own time there.

The room he was currently in was absolutely exquisite, tastefully decorated in deep blues, greens and silvers. It was very grand, but almost too beautiful and formal for him to relax in.

Why was he in Malfoy Manor again? Something in his gut felt wrong, but distantly, like a sensation foreign to him. He looked around the room with a wary interest, before going to the door and trying the handle.

It was locked. His brow furrowed marginally, the tension growing in his stomach.

"Hello Harry," a voice greeted quietly.

Harry spun around, heart thudding, before settling again into an anxious caution.

"Tom," he said, studying the other. The feeling that something was wrong was only intensifying. Wasn't he in Grimmauld Place only moments before? Or was it weeks? That felt distant too, surreal and somehow unreal.

Time didn't exist here, and as soon as he thought it, Harry didn't know how such an elusive conclusion had presented itself to him.

The Slytherin Heir entered further into the room by an other door, which shut behind him, sitting down to lounge on throne like armchair, surveying him coolly.

The chair itself was a dark green, spiralled by intricate silver weaving.

"What are we doing here?" Harry asked, with the strangest déjà vu, not sure why he couldn't catch his whimsical notions of wrongness more firmly, for analysis. They simply floated away from, dreamlike…"is this a dream?" he asked suddenly.

Tom smiled at him, a cruel twist of the lips that looked both perfectly placed and entirely alien on his features.

"It's in your head, yes," the other agreed, carelessly. In his head, but not specified as a dream.

The sense of forbidding was growing, before a bolt of realisation as sharp and bright as lightning pierced through his mind.

"Voldemort…" he murmured, horrified, stumbling back a few steps away from the chair, reaching for his wand, only to find it wasn't there.

Voldemort laughed, coldly, but not in that high pitched tone that Harry was used to from the snake-faced man. Except, the snake-face was gone, replaced by Tom. He was so confused. How had he not noticed the subtle shift in personality immediately?

"Are you sure you can tell the difference between us, Harry?" Voldemort questioned, a gleam in his diamond hard gaze. "Are you positive, would you vouch your life on it?"

"This isn't real," Harry said stubbornly, clinging to that, not examining the actual response too closely…he couldn't, dared not to.

"I see," Tom-_Voldemort_ began delicately, "do you mean like how your visions aren't real? Because it's in your head? The whole world is in your head, Harry, represented in the tiny particles of sense data that you use to perceive it…what ever makes you think your dreams are any less real than your so-called reality?"

Harry felt sick.

"Either way, you'll be gone when I wake up," he snapped.

"And waiting for you whenever you fall asleep," Voldemort returned, without missing a beat, still smiling that horrible smile.

Harry drew in a shuddering breath, looking away from the other. It was too painful because all he could see was TOM. This wasn't real. This was just a nightmare. Just...

"What exactly are you trying to achieve?" he questioned harshly, turning back to face the other after a moment. "Even if this is a…vision, or a dream, or a mind meeting, or whatever, you can't do anything to me. It's only happening in your…my…our minds."

"And the mind is what makes us feel pain," Voldemort replied softly, a crystal tumbler of bourbon appearing in his hand.

"Then get to inflicting it," Harry snarled. "Instead of acting like this is some twisted little tea party."

Voldemort…Tom…Voldemort merely smiled at him over the glass, taking a sip. There was a long oppressive pause, that only served to make Harry feel more twitchy.

"Does it bother you?" Voldemort asked finally, eyes intense and head tilting exactly like Tom's would, appearing exactly like Tom with Voldemort's words.

"Does what bother me?" Harry demanded, through gritted teeth, his head spinning.

"That you need a handsome young face to have any inclination as to which one of us you're talking to?"

"That's not true!" Harry growled. "Trust me, I can tell the difference between the two of you fine, without…why the sudden face change, anyway? Did you get bored of looking so damn ugly?"

"Midlife crisis," Voldemort deadpanned, though his tone had tightened along with his grip on his wand. The same wand.. "Are you sure you can tell? It just seemed to take you longer than one might expect to figure out I wasn't him...perhaps we are not as different as you like to pretend."

Harry stared back flatly, refusing to yield to the uncertainties swelling inside his chest.

He knew the difference…there were more differences to Tom and Voldemort than their looks…he'd just been surprised at first, and somewhat oblivious. He'd had a feeling that something was wrong anyway…but it was still so hard to look at an evil replica of his…friend.

The similarity was alarming, unnerving, and obviously flaunted for the sole purpose of screwing with his head even more.

The Dark Lord drained his glass, before rising to a stand, appraissing Harry.

Harry resisted the urge to run, something in those eyes…those eyes that looked so like Tom's in colour, but so different in countenance.

Tom had a cold, calculating, clever gaze, but the eyes before him now spoke of nothing but death.

Voldemort came to a stop before him, wand twirling idly in his fingers. Harry could no longer look away, even if he wanted to.

"**Your faith in him is impressive, I'll give you that**," Voldemort said, quietly, the wand trailing to press against his temple.

Harry didn't flinch, and didn't move away, because any magic in this…dream…was temporary for only as long as he was asleep…wasn't it? Nor did he say anything in response.

"**But everyone has to wake up eventually…how long can you endure before the lines blur? The heart does not follow the head." **

A sick smirk marred Tom's face, Voldemort's face, as he continued once agan.

"It's time to wake up, Harry. _Crucio."_

Pain, lingering pain, and a crushing grip on his shoulders, shaking him roughly, and the sting of a mean backhand.

His eyes snapped open, wide, staring up into the face of the one who had just tortured him as he gasped for air. What had just happened? What was that? A dream? Something more?

On instinct, he scrambled backwards, only for Tom's hands to curl tighter to keep him steady.

"Harry - easy - stop - **Harry!" **Tom hissed, a mixture of commanding and soothing, forceful and gentle.  
A paradox all round, really.

The heart knew that this Tom was different, he could see it by the well disguised concern and flashes of emotion in the other's face.

His head would only give him post traumatic flash backs of what had just occurred; a blinding, vicious screen play of agony on his eyelids.

The door burst open as Sirius and several Weasley's charged in, to see what the commotion was, the screaming.

Harry could only stare at them. And stare at Tom.

It was Christmas Morning.

Shit.

* * *

A/N: So…I am now 18, and officially a 'mature' and 'responsible' person…yeah.

Thanks for the reviews. Hope you enjoyed the update, or didn't hate it at any rate ;)  
Bet you were expecting another fluffy christmas chapter, weren't you :P That's next time, haha.

Reward for 1500 reviews is on Destiny's Darling, another pseudo kinda slashy piece. For me, anyway. But I will take requests otherwise, just for when I get bored. :)

* * *

Harry as Voldemort's Heir/Son story suggestion request:1) Kurinoone's series (first one in particular.)2) Prince of the Dark Kingdom. 

3) His Slytherin Descendants (Dark Cyan Star) 

4) Possibly Krystal Roze's Slytherin Connection series…

PS: Sorry for the constant repetition of fics. 


	84. Chapter 83

Chapter 83:

"What the hell did you do to my godson?" Sirius snarled, moving forwards, more animal then man. Harry's eyes widened.

"Siri-" he began.

"-Get away from him!" Ron ordered, roughly, advancing also.

Tom's wand was in his hand so fast that it was nothing but a blur, but he was still kneeling next to Harry's half collapsed form, limiting his capacity to dodge

"Guys-" Harry started again, louder.

"How dare you hurt him?" Sirius again, a curse on his tongue when Harry automatically shoved Tom backwards out of the way.

"FOR GOD'S SAKE LISTEN TO ME FIRST!" He yelled, at the top of his voice. Everyone paused, staring at him. "Thank you," he snapped, with a level of sarcasm. "Tom isn't hurting me, or attacking me…so everybody just, you know, lower your wands, okay? It's Christmas. Good will to men and all that."

Sirius studied him for a moment, as if he trying to assess the truth of the statement, before dong so, and everyone else followed his lead.

"You too, Tom," Harry instructed quietly, though he couldn't quite bring himself to look at the other just yet. He just knew by Ron's expression that Tom hadn't unarmed himself yet.

"What is happening here, then?" Remus questioned, voice sounding a little hoarse.

Harry could feel Tom's eyes burning into the side of his face.

"I-" Harry bit his lip, cursing inwardly. "I have…um…nightmares, alright? Tom was trying to wake me up."

"Some nightmare," Fred - or was it George? - said flatly. Harry shrugged, awkwardly.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I normally have silencing charms."

"Which is really damaging," Tom added pointedly, voice still a fraction frosty from the wands pointed at him only moments before. Harry blinked, noting Hermione had said the exact same thing simultaneously. His lips twitched.

People were slowly settling into the room.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked worriedly. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Harry shook his head, vehemently, automatically, before forcing a smile.

"It's fine, really. Sorry for waking you all up…what time is it?" he asked.

"Six in the morning," Mrs Weasley mumbled, sounding shaken. Harry winced.

"Right, sorry about that. You guys can all just go back to sleep. Sorry."

"Nah…" Ron yawned, eyes lighting up. "Presents!"

Harry grinned despite himself, albeit weakly. Most people drifted downstairs with Ron to either open presents, now that they were up, or back to their beds to nurse their late night. Sirius shifted guiltily.

"I apologise for trying to attack you," his godfather told Tom. "It was…unfair of me to make that assumption."

Tom nodded stiffly, regarding the Black with an entirely neutral gaze, revealing nothing of his emotions. Sirius shifted again, uncomfortably, before glancing at Harry once more.

"I'll talk to you later, kiddo…" he mumbled, with a hint of forbidding in his tone, presumably because Harry had neglected to mention nightmares before this.

Harry swallowed slightly.

"Okay," he said softly. Sirius ruffled his hair affectionately, before backing out the room, seeming slightly mortified.

Harry heard him cursing to Remus as they walked down the corridor. Silence filled the room.

"So, um…Happy Christmas?" Harry offered, brightly, standing up, only for Tom to rise with him, stepping into his way, with a half warning half…something else (comforting?) grip on his arm.

"What did you see?" Tom demanded, voice low.

Harry's gaze flicked up involuntarily, and then latched, scouring the other's face for differences, zoning on the eyes.

The eyes were different, though both had that undeniable edge of danger and darkness…but Tom's had more to them that, they had life as well as death.

He must have been silent for too long, for Tom's grip tightened fractionally, fingers flexing against his skin.

"What do I normally see in nightmares?" he returned, smiling wryly, his masks slowly hardening around once more as he woke up.

"You weren't having a nightmare," Tom said, no question in his tone.

Harry barely caught himself from stiffening, or giving some other noticeable reaction. Did Tom _know_ what had just happened?

"What do you mean?" he questioned, trying not to let his panic show, "of course I was!"

He shifted his arm out of Tom's grip, with a shake of his head, as if to dismiss Tom's words to absurdity.

His arm locked into place and Harry couldn't suppress the shiver that ran down his spine that time, the mental flashback.

"Tom…" his words were barely a murmur, before he forcefully bolstered them with some strength. "You really need to stop doing that."

"Perhaps I would if you'd stop making me chase you," Tom returned, walking around to stand in his line of sight once more. His arms were folded.

"What can I say, I've always been told to play hard to get. Be mean, keep 'em keen-" he began, rambling.

Tom placed a hand over his mouth, promptly shutting him up, before taking it away again.

"You seem to have picked up the annoying habit of doing that as well," Harry muttered, with a tinge of defiance.

"You weren't having a nightmare," Tom repeated, dangerously "When a person is dreaming or having a nightmare, they are in the fifth and deepest stage of sleep and, for all intents and purposes - paralysed. This occurs to stop the sleeper from acting upon what they are dreaming. Boy wonder or not, you are not exempt from this…and you mumble when you're having a nightmare. However, when you have a _vision_ you are not still, you are in another state entirely and tend to thrash and toss as if someone was holding you under the cruciatus." Tom paused, staring at him intently. "So, what did you see?"

"You know," Harry replied slowly, looking away, "that implies you've watch me sleep…creep."

"_**Hero**_**,"** Tom hissed, warningly.

Harry sighed, tugging his free hand through his hair. This wasn't going as planned.

"Death Eater meeting," he invented, on the spot. "They've screwed up on something and he's not happy. He tortures them. Here I am."

Tom's brow furrowed slightly, and the lock on his arm left, loosening in its pressure. The snake hissed soothingly as it melted back to crescent nail marks.

"Are you okay?" Tom asked, studying him. "I've got a pain relief potion if you need it due to…after affects."

Harry almost smiled, while simultaneously feeling inexplicably guilty that he was lying to the Slytherin Heir's face…but Tom couldn't do anything, and he couldn't run to the other every time he had a minor problem. Besides, this was between him and Voldemort.

"Pain relief comes with the domestic violence starter kit too?" he questioned instead.

Tom smirked, but didn't comment, merely raising his brows in a repeated enquiry.

"I'm fine," Harry said, softly, feeling oddly touched. "Thanks."

Tom waved it away, gruffly

."If I don't torture you, no one else gets to," he returned coolly.

"I feel loved," Harry snorted. Tom smiled, just about.

He could hear shouts of delight from downstairs, as gifts were opened. Tom's head tilted.

"Would you like your gift now or later?" the young Dark Lord asked, after a moment.

Harry blinked, convinced he'd misheard.

"You got me a Christmas present?" he asked. Tom bestowed him with that 'you're asking something stupid, the answer's obvious ' look, though he seemed marginally uncomfortable, as much as Tom ever looked uncomfortable.

"That is generally the custom, isn't it? You got me one."

"Well, yeah, but-" Harry trailed off, a warm feeling growing in his stomach. He hadn't expected Tom to return the favour.

No…Tom and Voldemort were definitely different, and he would cling to that…even if it was highly disconcerting to go from being tortured to be being given gifts…

Tom turned away from him, crossing the room to a cupboard next to the radiator, opening it and taking out a large cardboard box.

It wasn't wrapped in any festive or glitzy paper, and had small holes in it. A snake?

He took it when Tom handed it to him, watching him with an unreadable expression and a…nervous(?) touch in the deepest levels of his irises.

Harry smiled at him, a small smile, before opening the lid with a growing sense of curiosity.

When he saw what it was, his heart stopped.

Rat.

His eyes shot up to meet Tom's, who now looked more amused than anything else.

"T-This is Peter Pettigrew?" he said, disbelieving, inwardly cringing at the stammer in his voice.

"Yes," Tom said evenly. "Do what you want with him. Kill him, torture him, hand him over for trial and free your Godfather…"

Harry looked down at the stunned grey rat, before up at Tom again.

"Should I take your silence as an 'I like it' or…?"

"I…_**thank you,**_" Harry murmured, absolutely speechless.

He could free Sirius. He could have a real family. A real family…that was what Tom was offering him.

He set the box down carefully, trusting Tom had secured the traitor strongly enough that he wouldn't escape.

Tom regarded him carefully for a moment, before shrugging with a careless debonair.

"Merry Christmas, Harry."

"Merry Christmas, Tom."

Tom wasn't Voldemort.

There was hope, and he would cling to that.

But he wasn't looking forward to the nights, nonetheless.

* * *

A/N: So…thanks for the reviews. I hope you enjoyed this update, and that it makes Monday's more bearable.. And that Tom's gift wasn't too OOC or lame, or whatever, nor Tom. Um, yeah. Back to Hogwarts soon…the reference to "Domestic Violence starter pack" refers to Eos9's Fighting Fate vignettes - I hope she doesn't mind me using them. I write my updates spur of the moment, and forgot to ask before. (I can revise it if you mind me bouncing off you in an obvious manner.) 

PS: I got a Slytherin Pen from one of my friends =O It's totally awesome. Yup. You can clearly see that I am now a mature and responsible young adult….


	85. Chapter 84

MY HOUSE IS FREEZING! IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY! 

Chapter 84:

They headed downstairs to see everyone, side by side. Harry was holding the cardboard box again - he had to show Sirius!

"How did you even get hold of the rat?" he asked, eyeing the traitor with hate.

"I summoned him," Tom said, glancing at him out the corner of his eyes.

"What, with an accio? Why didn't I try…oh." Harry felt stupid. "You summoned him. Right. That type of summoning…ignore me."

Of course Tom would have control of the Dark Mark, he was the one who invented it.

Tom looked amused.

"Don't worry, I always do," the other returned loftily.

"Oi!" Harry yelped, indignantly.  
Tom dodged a hex, smirking at him.

"So…you can't just go in and out of Voldemort's Headquarters whenever you want, then?" Harry asked.

Tom simply arched a brow at him, neither confirming nor denying the question and its answer. Harry rolled his eyes, pushing open the door to the living room to another chorus of Merry Christmases.

It looked rather homely, if he said so himself, with the fire already crackling merrily in the grate and the Christmas tree all lit up.

Everyone awake was in there, and some, like Ron, were already tearing through their presents.

"Thanks for the broomstick!" Ron exclaimed, through a mouthful of fudge. "You're the BEST."

Tom's nose wrinkled just slightly at the other's etiquette. There was an awkward silence, the accusations of that morning ringing in the space between gold and silver baubles.

"Happy Christmas, Tom…Harry, what have you got there?" Hermione asked, clearly trying to sweep the memory away and include them both.

Harry's face brightened, with a dark flicker in his gaze. He tilted the box to show them.

Sirius went rigid, before snapping his head up with wide eyes to stare at them both.

"Tom got him for me," Harry said quietly. "I was thinking I might have him trialled at the soonest convenience. Later this week, if that's possible."

There was a moment of utter silence, then Sirius was up with a manic grin, deliriously happy and hugging Harry tightly, as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. It was infectious.

Harry almost snickered when his Godfather promptly grabbed Tom for a hug too, before freezing after a moment and taking a step back and holding the Slytherin warily at an arm's length.

"Get off me," Tom ordered, flatly, no intonation to his voice.

Sirius swallowed, brushing the other down seemingly on instinct as he released him immediately.

"Sorry…er…thank you…I…I don't know what to say."

"Well, I'd prefer you didn't say anything, your voice has an annoying quality to it," Tom replied.

Sirius spluttered, as if unsure whether Tom was being serious or not. Harry thought he might be, but there was also a hint of good humour lurking on the Slytherin Heir's lips, so maybe truth aside it hadn't been intended entirely viciously either.

"Everybody sit down then, I'd offer a drink to celebrate imminent freedom," Sirius said, still smiling broadly.

"-But it's a bit too early for that," Remus finished, clutching his head. "Even for you, Paddy."

Sirius pulled a pout, and Harry grinned. It was nice to see the joker side to the two remaining marauders.

"Aw, damn," Fred slapped his thigh, his twin taking up the sentence.

"-I've always wanted to try Champagne for breakfast. You're no fun _Paddy…_

"Why are you called Paddy?_" _they both chorused suddenly, staring at Sirius.

Harry wondered if they were linking Paddy with a name on a certain map.

"You are _not_ having champagne for breakfast!" Mrs Weasley said firmly, in the silence, with a glare, albeit fond, at Sirius as if daring him to contradict that statement.

"Another time, boys," Sirius winked. Some present opening ensued, along with hugs and general shrieks of delight. Harry kept one eye on Tom, who when noticing his gaze, winked at him.

"Hey, Tom-" Sirius tossed a package to the young Dark Lord, who caught it automatically, before looking down at the parcel. He looked back up at Sirius, who smiled, albeit a tad awkwardly. "It's from me and Remus. We doubled. Didn't really know what you liked outside of well…we didn't know what to get you."

"I didn't get you anything," Tom said.

Harry almost laughed. It was so great when awkward things happened, but not to him. It made a brilliant change.

Sirius seemed to ignore this, tossing Harry his present, which was large and wrapped in red and gold . Meanwhile, Hermione had opened her jewellery and seemed to like it - immediately getting someone (Charlie) to put it on for her.

Tom opened his present as if it was going to bite him, a book and a box of Honeydukes chocolates tumbling into his hands. It was on something called theory of Elemental Magic.

"You seem to like reading," Remus explained, uncomfortably. "I don't know if you've already read it but, I thought it might hold your interest."

"Thank you," Tom said, voice unreadable. "And no, I had not read it."

Harry opened his, before staring up at Sirius and Remus, who for some reason looked somewhat unnerved. It was a Pensieve, with lots of small bottles, lots of memories. Memories of their time at Hogwarts. Memories of his parents.

They smiled at him, a little sadly.

The present opening continued.

Best Christmas Ever.

[Insert scenes and bits I may come back to later, when I actually feel like writing about Christmas, so nearer to the time, or scenes that you send in for me to include, because I'm really blocked, sorry!]

Harry woke up…fell asleep to that elegant room. The locked door.

To Voldemort. Except, he still looked more like Tom. Couldn't the _bastard_ give him a break? For once?

"How are you doing that, anyway?" he asked grumpily. "A glamour?"

Voldemort looked at him, mouth smiling while his eyes remained iced.

"Harry…Merry Christmas."

"Let me sleep. I want to sleep."

Voldemort's smile simply widened at that, grotesque on Tom's lips.

"All in good time…darling? It is '_darling_,' isn't it? Once you see the truth, I will be more than happy to oblige you in that request. "

"The truth?" Harry repeated, warily.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle…I am Lord Voldemort," Voldemort said, with an air of calculated patience. Harry's jaw stiffened.

"So, what, are you aiming for me to see you as Tom, or Tom as you?"

"We are the same person, so that question is rather redundant," Voldemort returned pseudo-pleasantly.

Harry gritted his teeth, turning away and stalking over the window. He mentally tested his surroundings, able to shake off the dreamlike apathy easier this time, expecting it, fighting it the second it tried to ensnare him. He could do nothing. He couldn't even summon his wand.

"I presume we're in your mind, not mine," Harry said clinically, not looking around, his eyes slowly focussing on the view before him.

For a dream, Voldemort could sure be intricate in his illusions.

He felt Tom…Voldemort…approach him, resting an arm on his shoulder as he too stared at the view…Harry shrugged the other off immediately, backing away, a sharp pain running through his head at the touch.

Voldemort turned to watch his progress, with that sick amusement.

"You seem rather jumpy, considering how tactile you are with my younger self…I must confess I'm hurt…I even have the pretty face."

"You know," Harry snapped. "You're rather narcissistic to make constant references to your own attractiveness."

"Oh, so you find us aesthetically pleasing then?" Voldemort smirked.

Harry clenched his fists. For god's sake! He felt like killing something. Someone. The monster across the room.

"Shall we skip to the part where you torture me and I wake up?" he questioned, coldly. Anything was preferable to being around this…replica, fake, this impostor of Tom.

"So eager for pain, Harry?" Voldemort tutted. "My, maybe you do have a masochistic streak…"

"Your mimicry is cheap," Harry spat. "Give it up. I would know Tom, my Tom, from you any day!."

Voldemort's mouth twisted to a sneer.

"_Your_ Tom?" he repeated, laughing callously. "Oh this is sweet, you're just adorable, aren't you? Take it from history, his faith in you is nowhere near as strong as yours for him. You are nothing to him…well, perhaps a toy? An intriguing little pet? I admit, I prefer that nickname to darling…there, you can be pet."

Harry almost growled, catching his composure in the last second, his eyes flashing furiously.

The yew wand was out now, lazily pointing towards him, but Harry refused to tense, or cower of run.

"And guess what, pet, toys aren't much fun once they're broken…_crucio." _

* * *

A/N: So, I generally despise this chapter. As in, it's my most hated chapter yet, which is saying something because I actually only consider this story to have any quality after at least chapter 30. But you know, there's some debate to be had whether or not i'm an overly harsh self-critic.

You might be able to tell that this chapters not my best though. Sorry. I will endeavour to be better next time…and I know I probably should have left this chapter as pure fluff or something, but it just made the whole thing too…I don't know…bland?

Maybe I'm sadistic or something, which is why I can write Tom (or I'm told I can write him at any rate…)

Bye. Thanks for the reviews. :D


	86. Chapter 85

Please vote on the poll on my profile - how do you want Fate's Favourite to end- or leave a review on the topic, (I know I've asked this before, but I'd liked to gather it all up) whichever you'd prefer, as I can't continue this story before I've decided for definite now. The poll is on blind poll, so nothing will be given away as to which way I decide to go. Thanks!

Chapter 85:

Soon, it was time for them all to return to Hogwarts.

Pettigrew's Trial was being held at the beginning of January, just after new year, because the Wizenamagot was made up of a bunch old stuffy purebloods who all had long standing affiliations with Light or Dark respectively, and thus the operation was receiving some resistance.

It would happen though…one way or another.

At least they couldn't deny that Sirius hadn't murdered the rat.

Sirius…his godfather had sat him down for a rather forceful 'chat' about keeping things that were detrimental to his health to himself. Harry had spent a large fraction of the time mentally thanking whoever was in charge of these things that Sirius didn't know the specifics of all of his years at Hogwarts, then.

It was just…in his experience, most adults weren't that competent outside of their good intentions. At least, not competent in a good way.

Still, he'd nodded for the sake of not dampening Sirius' mood.

The dark-haired marauder was beginning to panic about all the things that could go wrong with the investigation into his freedom.

Harry was happy to be back at Hogwarts though, and he felt more connected to his friends again after the holiday. He also had a whole new bundle of crap to deal with, mainly involving the locket and Voldemort's new found hobby of haunting his nights as if the Dark Lord had nothing better to do with his time.

It was always disconcerting to wake up from then, and not just due to the pain…and it made being around Tom exceedingly difficult as Voldemort seemed intent to sweep all differences under the rug until just seeing the other's face made his stomach clench in anticipation of torture.

He hoped Tom hadn't noticed, though the Slytherin Heir probably had…he'd given Harry several suspicious scrutinising looks already, and Harry could only claim Death Eater screw ups so much to explain the flinches and trembling that were creeping up on his battered mind.

But other than that, he was happy, especially to be back at Hogwarts. The break hadn't been the most enjoyable, with the gloom of Mr Weasley's death hanging over the house, but it had been…good.

He'd looked through some of the pensieve memories with Remus and Sirius, and laughed his arse off at his father's antics, regarding Lily.

He wasn't sure exactly how they had managed to get together seeing some of the things, but at the same time he knew they did, and the later moments proved it.

He got to see his parent's wedding. It was a quiet affair, due to the war, but wonderful and filled with happiness. Lily had looked beautiful and carefree in a flowing white dress, and there was a hilarious scene of Sirius slapping James around the face when he got pre-ceremony jitters and almost threw up in terror that he'd say his vows wrong.

He would have liked to have known them better, but was sure that they would be different with him, being their child, then they would be with their friends. Still.

The other Slytherins were waiting for them when they entered the Common Room; Zevi, Abraxas, Lestrange and Alphard approaching immediately.

"Tom-you're _back_!" Lestrange gushed, "I have a present for you…come on, I'll give it to you, I think you'll like it-"

"-did you have a good Christmas?" Alphard.

"-Draco invited us to visit the family manor for New Year's…wouldn't you like to go? Can I go?" Abraxas.

There was also something about an experiment gone wrong, to which Tom pursed his lips, and another something about the fingers disintegrating which made Harry double take.

"Fingers?" he repeated incredulously, cutting through the noise, staring at Tom. "What the hell do you do when I'm not around? - they better not be bloody human!"

Tom waved a dismissive hand.

"Dementor fingers," he said, as if that explained everything. "I was experimenting…ignore it."

The young Dark Lord sent Alphard (whom had mentioned it) a cold expression, to which the Black paled, not saying anything further, glancing back at…Daphne Greengrass?

Harry noticed that no one else mentioned anything about fingers or experiments after that.

It was rather strange to get a full blast of Tom's system at work.

It was only Tom's original group…inner circle…that talked, but they were addressing the issues and questions raised by many other Slytherins. To Harry's mind, it brought back vague memories of the Patronage and royal court factions that he'd read about in muggle History class, when he was nine. Something like that.

It was hard to put down a finger of Tom's systems, except for the fact that most people vied for his attention, but ending up getting it via proxy…aka, either Zevi, Abraxas, Alphard or Lestrange.

He'd never get his head around Death Eater politics and slipped past, heading towards Draco and the current year Slytherins in an effort to avoid the distinctive aura of hierarchy.

Zevi caught his arm, discreetly as he weaved past, pulling him closer for a moment.

"Are you alright…? I heard about the Weasley Patriarch," the Prince heir murmured. Harry flashed a smile.

"Yeah, I'm fine…thanks for the book."

Zevi studied him neutrally for a moment.

"You're welcome," he returned quietly, releasing him once again with a brief smile. "It's great to have you back…Tom's been driving people up the wall in his boredom."

Harry laughed at that, continuing on his way to the corner of the room. The current day Slytherins looked up at him as he drew to a stop by the table.

"Good Christmas?" he asked, when they didn't speak.

"Alright," Draco replied, seeming nonplussed by his effort of small talk.

"What about you?" Parkinson said, smiling sweetly at him, placing a hand on his thigh as he sat down. "Good Christmas? I have a present for you, you know."

Draco's jaw tightened, as did Nott's, though he didn't know why.

"That's…er…nice of you," he said, shifting his leg away slightly, casually. Blaise Zabini appeared marginally amused.

"Why are you talking to us?" Draco asked, impatiently, after a moment. "Have you and Riddle had a lover's tiff already-?"

"We're not-" Harry began, infuriated, before giving up and just shaking his head in despair. "No, Tom and I haven't argued. Why? Do you want me to _not_ talk to you?"

"I don't know," Draco replied warily, "is Riddle going to bite our head off? In case you hadn't noticed, he doesn't like me…which is your fault."

"Nonsense," Pansy said airily. "I'm sure Tom doesn't mind, and I certainly don't mind Harry talking to us, he can talk to us all he pleases."

"Parkinson, don't you have homework?" Nott snapped. Harry was starting to feel bewildered, but recognised the situation well enough, and didn't show it.

He'd just unwittingly walked straight into the middle of an in progress Slytherin power shift. Which he, apparently, seemed somehow involved in.

He debated silently for a moment for his response, more used to it than his Gryffindor sensibilities would admit. He didn't like ordering people around, except Tom, but Tom needed to be ordered around every now and again for the sake of his overwhelming ego…but Pansy Parkinson was really annoying and he thought her smile was too close to a flirtatious leer for his liking…and to not do anything would be sign of weakness. But nor was he one to abide by peer pressure. Damn.

"Homework…" he murmured, instead. "We have that essay due in for Snape, don't we? On the effect of Boomslang skin in Potions, right? Have you lot all done it?"

They eyed him in a speculating manner, before Nott shrugged.

"Did it ages ago, it's better to get Potions done early to get all the researching done."They talked about classes for a bit, and Harry breathed an inward sigh of relief as the conversation continued smoothly.

He honestly didn't understand how Tom could gain such pleasure from always directing conversation, it was tiring.

"I think Riddle wants you to come over," Zabini said quietly, in a lull of the conversation. "He's staring at you."

"He does that," Harry replied, but looked around nonetheless. Tom arched his brows at him, questioningly, subtly tilting his head to the main sofa they were occupying. Harry wondered how the original Slytherins felt about being kicked from their spots.

He looked back at the current day Slytherins, who were watching the exchange with veiled curiosity.

"Are you not going to go over there?" Draco asked nervously. Harry's brow furrowed at the anxious hint in the younger…same age but current day…Malfoy's tone.

"Salazar, he really does scare the crap out of you, doesn't he?"

"Eloquent," Zabini smirked, causing Harry to pull a face at him, automatically. Draco shifted, but didn't say anything.

All the other Slytherins had gone oddly quiet as well.

"Okay…is he really that scary? I mean, sure, he's not…cuddly, and he has his moments, but he's not…I'm not scared of him," Harry stated, slowly.

"That," Draco mumbled, "is because he likes you."

"And the Dark Lord tries to kill you, so most things would pale in comparison," Zabini added calmly. Harry blinked.

What exactly had Tom got up to when he was away? He sighed.

"What did he do while I was…away?" he demanded. They just looked at him.

"Tell me. I won't mention it to him."

"Mention what to whom?" a voice asked behind his back.

Harry flipped his head back onto his chair to see a familiar upside down face, regarding him with slight amusement Tom. Of course.

"Mention to Lestrange that I got him dog biscuits," he said.

"You're not giving them to him?" Tom questioned, in a disappointed tone of voice. "Buzz kill."

"He doesn't need my torture on top of yours," Harry said, glancing at Lestrange who quickly averted his gaze.

How had he not noticed Lestrange fancied Tom? He must have simply put it down to Lestrange being a total sycophant who stared after Tom, regardless.

"But his expression would be so very entertaining," Tom returned, grinning like a shark.

"Sadistic bastard," Harry remarked. Tom tipped an imaginary hat as if in acknowledgement, before settling into a seat next to them.

Harry noticed that the current day Slytherins had got very tense, and still, but were all slightly leaning towards Tom in spite of this, as if drawn like magnets.

The past day Slytherins looked at them, as did many of the other Slytherins…attention followed Tom.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?" Tom asked, suddenly, smiling as if he were slightly cautious of doing so.

Sometimes Harry wondered if Tom had a "inconvenient time to cut in" device to go with his "dramatic moment" detector.

It was much later at night when Harry walked into his dorm, before stopping. There was an extra bed.

"That's from us, Slytherins, collectively," Alphard drawled. "We petitioned to Snape."

"And he agreed?" Harry asked, gob smacked that Snape would do anything that benefited him.

"He seemed to find the fact you normally share a bed with me disturbing," Zevi said, innocently. "I can't think why…but he was a peculiar green colour, it was quite fascinating."

Harry snorted, amused.

"Has he stopped giving you detentions yet?" he asked, remembering. Zevi's smirk broadened, but he didn't comment.

Harry chuckled, moving over the bed to dump his stuff. It was the traditional four poster, but instead of being green and silver in its hangings it was silver and gold. He looked back at them, brows raised at the thought they willingly represented his Lion roots .

His mind flew to snake on his arm, of the same colouring.

"Tom suggested the colour scheme," Abraxas said, glancing at the Slytherin Heir in question. That of course meant none of them would ever dream to protest. He smirked to himself.

"But I charmed the gold green," Abraxas added.

"Nice charm," Harry complimented, and the past Malfoy smiled.

"You're welcome."

Harry sat down, feeling oddly at home. He felt a surge of affection for the Slytherins.

For now, it was good to be back home.

* * *

A/N: Another filler, maybe, but I liked this one. It's also long…which might be some consolation if you guys didn't like it. But you know, for once I'm going to be optimistic and assume you did…not in the least because if I was being pessimistic I'd then have to get into a debate as to whether a longer chapter if the chapter sucks is actually preferable to less suck to force through like treacle…hmmm, I think I might be in an odd mood. Oh well. 

Thanks for all the support and reviews =) You guys are amazing, and I'd dedicate the story to all of you if I could, in fact, I do…I've always been writing it for you anyway (and my own enjoyment, of course.)Remember to vote on endings! 

I was going to have something else happen, but this seemed like a good place to cut it off...so...I suppose you'll find that out next time...


	87. Chapter 86

Chapter 86:

"_Harry!_"

Hands were shaking him, roughly, snapping him into awareness.

Harry felt the screams die in his throat as his eyes shot open, but the pain linger in his bones like a heavy chill. Bloody Voldemort.

His wand was out in seconds, ready to defend against the Dark Lord that loomed over him, but too slow, and the wand was clattering out of his hands.

"**Easy, it's me - Harry -**"

His mind was a blur, hazy, before they locked on the eyes above him.

Tom. Right. Tom. Not Voldemort anymore; he'd woken up. Crap.

He let his struggles go limp, before pushing himself shakily into a sitting position. The haze lifted slowly, his body scarcely containing his shudders.

Tom. Not Voldemort. _Tom. _

"Sorry," he gasped, pushing his hair out of his face, glancing around the room at the Slytherins who were all watching him with expressions of annoyance, resignation, pity and undeniable sympathy blurred into one like wet watercolours.

He looked back to Tom, finding those eyes fixed on his features. He resisted the urge to immediately look away, and instead coughed slightly, rubbing his head sheepishly and aiming for a grin.

"Er, I'll just you know…go back to sleep now…maybe read a bit…you should go back to bed."

In response, Tom hauled him up on his feet, jaw tight, dragging him towards the common room. Harry winced. "Um, Tom-"

"We need to talk," the other said dangerously, tossing him in the direction of the sofa. Harry's muscles ached from the imprint of the cruciatus.

"You just got back…are you sure you wouldn't rather sleep-"

"Sit," Tom growled, pushing him down onto an armchair, and then promptly leaning over it in a rather threatening manner.

Harry pulled a hopefully innocent expression. It didn't do anything to expel the darkness in Tom's.

"So…" the Slytherin Heir drawled, "another Death Eater meeting, I presume?"

"They screw up an awful lot," Harry said nonchalantly, holding Tom's scrutiny for a moment to prove his 'truthfulness,' before averting his gaze because Tom looked very much like he wanted to perform legilimency or something equally nasty on him.

"**Do you think I'm an idiot?" **Tom hissed, near his ear. Harry replied without thought, smirking, staring with rapt interest at the fireplace.

"I don't think you want me to answer that." He paused, feeling Tom's glare burning into his skin. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed."

Harry moved to stand up, almost blind with panic, but Tom didn't shift, leaving only inches between them. He swallowed, shoving past, just knowing that he had to get out of this situation before things went downhill.

Fingers wrapped around his wrist in a grip that crushed his bones together, reeling him back, violently. His eyes shot up to the other's face, blazing, livid. His heart pounded in his chest.

Tom couldn't know about Voldemort, he just couldn't…it was too…personal to their current issues...and...what if he was just a...pet? This was all so screwed up.

"You are truly a wonder, golden boy," Tom said softly, menacingly, "if you can have visions of Death Eater meetings, involving failures, when no such meetings to fit that criteria have recently occurred," Tom said flatly. Oh. Damn.

"Maybe I'm a seer," he offered, cheerfully.

"Or maybe you're lying to my face," Tom returned, coldly.

Harry sighed, heavily, looking down at the floor.

"Just…go back to bed, okay? It doesn't matter, I can handle it."

"Handle what?" Tom questioned. Harry didn't answer, causing the other to tilt his head firmly upwards, fingers pressing lightly over the pressure points of his throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to warn.

"Your Occlumency isn't very good yet, Harry, I could pick the knowledge out if you don't wish to tell me."

"Or," Harry replied, flippantly, "you could act like you're capable of human feeling and leave it be if I don't wish to share."

Tom's grip tightened fractionally, but he didn't flinch. He was used to spending his nights in pain by now.

"I've tried that method for the last week, hoping you might trust me enough to tell me of your own accord," Tom said quietly. Harry stiffened. The last week? "What," Tom smiled, mockingly, "did you really _think_ that because you put on a happy face, offered a token fight and then compliantly _'_told' me what you believed I wanted to know, that I wouldn't look deeper? That I wouldn't care to? Oh, Harry, tut tut."

"It's not your fight-" Harry began.

"You're an excellent liar, sweetheart," Tom interrupted, studying him, releasing his jaw after a moment, but still not shifting out of the way. "But you're not as good as me. You never will be. You're too _human."_

"I didn't mean it like that," Harry muttered. "It's just…it's my fight, my problem, and its not your business to get involved in that."

"It's Voldemort," Tom said, "he's the only person you have visions of. Of course it's _my_ problem and _my _business - if anything, it's more mine than yours. So, start talking, or I will legilimise you."

Harry did. Because, when it came down to it, it was easier to edit words than memories.

Ten minutes later, Tom was silent, far too silent, regarding him with no expression.

Then, abruptly, he rose to his feet from the sofa he was lounging in, transfiguring his night clothes to robes with a few swishes of his wand. Harry's eyes widened.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, grabbing the Slytherin Heir's arm.

"To give that bastard so painful a concussion that for the next month he can't bear to be in his own head, let alone anyone else's," Tom replied pleasantly.

"This is why I didn't want to tell you," Harry snapped, yanking the other back from the door. "Just leave it."

"Leave you to be tortured out of your mind?" Tom questioned delicately, something paradoxically hard in his features.

"You can't do anything about it," Harry replied, frustrated. "The paradox is crumbling; I'm going to end up in his mind until I learn to Occlude and sleep at the same time, regardless of what you do."

"Then it should make no difference to you if I hunt him down or not."

"_**Tom!"**_

Tom glanced pointedly down at the arm still in Harry's grip, before back up at his face, unreadable, but somehow less harsh then before.

"What's the real reason you kept this from me, Harry?"

"I kept it from everyone, don't take it so personally," Harry replied, letting his hand slide back to his side.

"But it is personal," Tom countered, staring at him intently, seemingly willing to stay put while his curiosity held. "You forget I know how Voldemort thinks…more or less…and this is _personal._ He wouldn't be wasting his time fiddling about with your messed up psyche for boredom, no matter what you may think of our attention spans."

Harry tried very hard not to flinch at the 'ours' in that statement and merely rolled his eyes instead.

"Do you want you want," he muttered finally, inwardly slumping.

"I'm going to bed."

"Did he talk during this torture fest?" Tom questioned, at his back, something in his tone. Harry faltered, turning around again.

The Common Room seemed too quiet, too familiar for such an…unfamiliar conversation. He felt off kilter, and it wasn't just the slowly fading pain talking, or the exhaustion…the permanent exhaustion.

"He does little else…it's a trait you share," Harry replied. Tom folded his arms, approaching him slowly.

"Love of mind games is another," Tom drawled. "What did he say?"

"It doesn't matter," Harry said, shaking his head.

"**It does to me,"** Tom hissed, fury leaking into his voice for the first time.

"Look," Harry began, his own temper nearing breaking point, "you have no right to demand to know everything in my life, you know practically my whole life story, while you've told me next to nothing of your own. Trust is a two way street."

Tom blinked, and Harry took the opportunity to race back into the dorm, and the relative safety of being around the others.

He had the horrible feeling that this conversation wasn't over.  
But it was for now.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, and the poll votes - I think I've come tpp a decision.

Oh this chapter...too many ideas...it just wouldn't go right. I hope it turned out okay. =)


	88. Chapter 87

Chapter 87:

Tom wasn't there at breakfast; but he'd left his bed by the time Harry was up.

Uneasy, Harry couldn't help but wonder if the other had even gone to sleep again the previous night or simply gone to run…errands.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that very real possibility.

Normally he would have sat with Ron and Hermione if Tom was for some reason not at the Slytherin table, but now he dropped into a seat between Draco Malfoy (sitting next to Abraxas) and Blaise Zabini. Draco looked at him with veiled alarm.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, choking down a mouthful of scrambled eggs. T

he past-day Slytherins were all staring at too…along with most of the hall now that he thought to check. Ron shot him a 'what the hell!' look. Oops.

"Are you trying to get us in trouble?" Draco demanded.

Harry folded his arms, taking a sip of his coffee, before speaking in a low voice.

"What were you going to say before Tom came over? Yesterday?" he asked.

Blaise made a noise in the back of his throat, sounding a mixture of amused and something else.

"Salazar, you're persistent," the Italian muttered. Harry simply raised a brow in response, stubbornly staring them all down.

"Blaise…" Nott began, nervously, warningly. Zabini was studying him, carefully.

"There's nothing to tell, right Zabini?" Draco said. Harry's brow furrowed.

"Sounds like a lot of nothing. You guys look like you're about to piss yourself or something."

"I'm not going to get in Riddle's way again," Draco said, flatly, loudly.

Abraxas gave a small, approving nod, to which Draco smiled weakly.  
Harry narrowed his eyes at the elder (past) Malfoy, who met his gaze seriously for a moment, before looking away.

He was starting to feel slightly fed up with everyone evading his questions.

He was starting to see why Tom preferred just ripping people's minds open when he wanted to know something…and it really wasn't a good sign if he thought that.

Was there _no one_ in Slytherin who he could get to tell him what the hell was going on? He stared down at his coffee, deep in thought.

"You've got defence first, don't you?" a voice asked.

He looked up, realising after a few seconds that the question was addressed to him. Pansy Parkinson. Freaking hell. What was up with her?

She smiled at him, in a way she obviously thought was attractive. _Attractive. _Was she was trying to flirt with him? Perhaps she needed something from him, or wanted something from him? Bingo if she did.

"Um, yeah, I do," he replied, smiling easily back at her as much as it pained him to force his lips to accommodate his wishes.

Draco's eyes slitted, and Zabini suddenly seemed much more attentive.

"Of course he does," Nott snapped, "he's only been in our class for the last five years. Stupid question."

"I was just starting a conversation," Parkinson sniffed, looking at him as if for approval.

He had to nail the shy, hopeful smile down to keep it from vanishing from his lips.

"Well, perhaps I must walk you to the class, and see if you remember my face then," he offered, mentally puking in his mouth.

He was sure he could get her to talk in that time. Parkinson gave a weird twitch of her face in response. It might have been an attempt at coyness. He didn't want to know.

"Harry," Zevi began, seemingly unable to stop himself from listening. He tore his eyes away from Parkinson, as if he were for some bizarre reason reluctant to look away, to regard the Prince Heir.

"Zevi?" he questioned, cutting over the other just slightly. Zevi looked as if about to say something, before his gaze automatically fixed on something above Harry's shoulder.

Harry didn't have to turn to know Tom was approaching the table, and sure enough, moments later the Slytherin Heir had dropped into his customary seat and pulled a bowl of porridge over to himself, as if he hadn't just strode in ten minutes before lessons were due to start.

Lestrange started immediately.

"Did you know about Harry and Parkinson, Tom?" he laughed, 'casually'. "They seem to have a bit of a spark going on there across the table."

Harry saw Draco pale, looking like he was about to faint in his seat, and Pansy initially preen. Tom's eyes cut upwards, down a few seats and onto his face.

"That so?" he questioned lightly, sounding like he was replying to Lestrange, but his gaze didn't shift.

Harry arched a brow in return to the continued scrutiny, and Tom's head tilted, before he looked away, striking a conversation with Alphard.

Draco deflated.

McGonnagal kept him back at the end of class, before lunch, speaking in tones of some strange union of terseness, sternness and pitying understanding.

"You are to serve detention every night for the next two weeks, starting tomorrow…the Headmaster also wishes to see you tonight. The password is acid pops," she informed him.

Right. Detention for sneaking out and getting drunk with Tom. With everything that had happened he'd forgotten all about that.

"What is my detention?" he asked, tonelessly. Her lips pursed, whether in disapproval or something else, he wasn't sure.

"You will be working with potions ingredients for Professor Snape," she replied.

Fabulous.

Not trusting himself not to swear or say something scathing, he simply nodded, turning for the door without another word.

He hadn't had the opportunity to talk to Parkinson after all, as the others had practically leeched themselves to his sides so he could scarcely steal a minute alone to _think_ let alone dig through the vast network that was Tom's empire.

Of course, he had some idea how the intricate spider webs of traps and temptation worked, he'd been stuck helplessly drifting in them like Frodo while Shelob approached to devour him before…and he'd sabotaged.

Tom underestimated just how much work went into effective sabotage…the point was, if he needed information, he did keep a keen eye out for which strings he would need to pull. He knew the weakest links, and the strongest ones. Pansy was weak, for he already had something she wanted. He didn't yet know what had caused her sudden interest in him, but he could use it.

She wasn't there; she'd brazenly suggested that she'd wait for him. Instead, there was Tom.

The Slytherin Heir was leaning against the wall outside, and McGonnagal paused when she came out of her classroom to go to lunch herself. The disapproval was definite this time.

"Mr Riddle," she greeted, with clipped tones, hurrying past, averting her gaze from him.

"Minerva," Tom inclined his head at her back, a cruel, mocking glint in his eyes. Her pace quickened until she vanished out her sight.

Tom looked back at him, studying him for a few seconds, before he crooked his fingers in an imperious gesture indicating that Harry should follow him... in the opposite direction of the Great Hall. Harry presumed he was heading towards the kitchens.

He debated for a moment, before going along with it.

The uncomfortable truth was that he was starting to get less and less choice in regards to walking away from Tom.

"Mr Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby squealed happily when they entered, though he sobered instantly at the sight of the Slytherin Heir. Harry noted with some small amusement that Dobby's back straightened rigidly where all the others bowed.

Tom regarded the elf as if he wasn't sure what to make of him. Admittedly, Dobby was rather enthusiastic in his choice of clothing…still, that contemplative expression never did anyone good.

They sat down in the Room of Requirement, with the open sky and the fireplace…except, Tom had shifted it slightly, banishing the walls to open out onto sunny fields of grass.

It was odd, kind of like depositing a floor, a fireplace (magical, as it wasn't connected to anything) and sofas in the middle of the countryside, to be battered by the elements…but it was nice. He seemed to have asked the room to mimic a different weather to the dreary grey that smothered the landscape outside, a sunny one. It was peaceful.

Harry couldn't help but feel suspicious, even as he felt his guards lowering automatically with the contented allure of freedom and open skies.

He doubted the walls really opened out to fields, but magic made it look very open. He loved magic.

"Is there a particular reason you're here instead of enforcing the smooth running of your empire?" Harry asked finally, into the silence, hoping the Slytherin Heir wasn't planning on picking up from where he'd left things last night. "Where were you this morning, anyway?"

Tom's head snapped back to him, as he seemingly came out of whatever muse of thought he'd slipped into.

"Giving Voldemort concussion," Tom deadpanned. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Fine, don't tell me," he said.

In all honesty he wasn't even surprised any more. He glanced at Tom when the other didn't speak, pausing. He blinked.

"Wait - were you actually-?" he began. Tom didn't say anything further on the topic, taking a swig of pumpkin juice, leaning back casually on the palm of his hands.

"This is different from your normal setting of choice," Harry tried again. "Light. Nothing dark of gloomy in sight…except for the furniture. Looks like it's been imported straight out of an ancient ancestral home." Nothing, no response except for a small smile. "A French one," he added.

Tom raised an eyebrow at that, tossing him an apple. He caught it automatically, wondering if this was a Tom way of telling him to shut up.

"I figured you'd like it," was all the young Dark Lord said.

Harry temporarily gave up, leaning back onto his elbows, eyeing the apple warily before meticulously biting a smiley face into it just for kicks. He got the wild urge to turn it around to face Tom, and charm it to say 'hi.'

It amused him at least…sensing he was being watched, he glanced up. Tom's eyes flicked from him to the apple face. Harry shrugged, trying not to look sheepish, biting the face off and feeling oddly guilty about doing so.

Tom smirked, shaking his head slightly, before his features turned grave, thoughtful.

Harry resisted the urge to shift as the mood switched to something more solemn, and tried not to tense in response to this, taking another bite of his apple before flopping down onto his back to stare at the enchanted sky.

Tom, in juxtaposition of his slipping posture, sat up more, resting a forearm on his knee.

"You do realise you know more about me than anyone else, don't you?" the other questioned. Harry blinked, allowing himself that much reaction, but nothing else. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't that.

"I could say the same about your knowledge of my own life," he returned, carefully. "So, really, that's a moot point."

Tom was silent - appraising him if the familiar weight of eyes burning into his skin was anything to go by.

"And this…bothers you?" Tom asked. Harry glanced over, unable to help himself.

"Put yourself in my position," he replied. "And try and figure out being around someone who knows everything about you and you know little to nothing about them, barring public knowledge."

To Harry's shock, Tom laughed softly.

"Oh, you mean like having a mysterious exchange student with an unexplained hatred for you land on you out of nowhere and know your name, then deny it…that type of feeling?"

Harry pulled a face in response.

"Yes, though I'd like to think I've been more civilised and patient in my curiosity as I've _not_ forced Veriterserum down your throat," he said pointedly.

Tom smirked, shrugging his shoulders elegantly.

"I'd like to see you try," was all he said. But he looked speculative. "I'm not accustomed to sharing my life," he continued after a pause, with an almost cautious hint to his tone.

"Neither am I," Harry said simply. "But you took that choice of trusting away from me."

Tom stared at him sharply at that, lounging on the sofa.

"It's your own fault for being so interesting," he returned. Harry snorted.

"You know, I was actually trying to be somewhat unnoticed."

"Yeah? How did that work out for you?" Tom questioned, but something in his eyes suggested he was asking another question, a deeper, more personal one. Harry smirked.

"Well, I got dragged kicking and screaming into being friends with this total bastard. Really, you should see him…incredibly smug and arrogant. It's sickening."

"Sounds like a charming character," Tom dismissed, favouring him with an unreadable expression, betraying only a hint of amusement.

"I suppose he has his moments…when he's not too busy being a total arsehole."

Tom's lip quirked upwards fractionally, but he didn't respond, quiet for a while.

"When I was a child…before I was really consciously aware of my magic, I was about four or five, I believe…I wanted to be a pilot."

Harry blinked, before turning onto his side to look at the other, fascinated.

"Before the Dark Lord days, then," he stated.

"Yes…that didn't start until I was seven."

It took him a moment to realise that Tom was teasing him about the Dark Lord thing, and he promptly threw the apple core at the other. After a moment, Harry tilted his head.

"You don't seem overly fond of heights…I mean," he hurried to explain, "I've never really seem you on a broom."

"I don't like relying on other people or things for my own safety," Tom replied.

"And yet you wanted to fly planes for a living?"

"I used to," Tom corrected. "A long time ago."

"What changed?" Harry asked, studying the other, hardly daring to believe that Tom was actually talking about himself for once, It wasn't much…but it was a start. Hopefully. "Aside from aspirations to become a Dark Lord, I mean…"

Tom looked at him for a moment, flatly.

"Some Muggle children at the orphanage pushed me off a cliff to see if freaks could fly."

The words were said so nonchalantly, so without inflection, that it took Harry a few seconds to process, and note the sudden shadow in Tom's gaze. He swallowed.

"Yeah, I imagine that would put you off heights," he said softly. Tom studied him for a while longer, searching for something, though Harry wasn't sure what. "I'm sorry," Harry said, quietly, without pity.

Tom smirked, suddenly, unexpectedly, chillingly.

"Don't be. I got them back for it."

* * *

A/N: So, people didn't seem to fond of the last chapter, at least in terms of reviews…I hope you prefer this chapter =) Thank you to the people who did review 3 You are all absolutely amazing. For now, I will continue clawing my way to the end of this story. Hope you enjoy….and perhaps this chapters a little longer for you?

**IMPORTANT PS...the cliff thing belongs to Eos...but I might have, um, nicked it off her. Before she posted that chapter. So...erm. Sorry Eos! You're just so good to bounce off! Erm. Yeah. Hope this doesn't ruin anything for you. But yeah - guys - credit to her! She is amazing! **


	89. Chapter 88

The end of the school day was marked by the growing realisation that he was going to have to deal with Dumbledore after dinner…and the offhand observation that he was going to have to come up with some way of excusing his absence from the common room every so often.

Sure, he spent a lot of time outside the common in the evenings, in the room of requirement, but he was with Tom. Damn. He'd have to miss out on his training that night, to see Dumbledore…but, it was important for the war effort, wasn't it? Supposedly anyway.

Nonetheless, he'd agreed to go, and he could always back out if these 'lessons' were a waste of his time. He was sitting in the common room, keeping an eye on the time, waiting for the clock to strike seven.

In Gryffindor, going off to meet the Headmaster would be no problem.

In Slytherin…well. They weren't too fond of Dumbledore in Slytherin. He checked his watch once more.

"Are you waiting for something?" a voice asked. Parkinson.

Harry blinked, more surprised then he would admit that she had actually come up to him - and more particularly the rest of the past Slytherins and _Tom_ - in the Common Room. None of the current day Slytherin's had ever done that, only approaching if they were specifically called over.

He sensed Abraxas, Zevi, Alphard and Lestrange all flick their eyes immediately, subtly, over to the Slytherin Heir. Harry didn't care to look up to read his expression.

"I've got some stuff to take care of later," he replied. She nodded, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear.

"Anything I can do to help?" she asked.

"Er, not really. Thanks for the offer, another time maybe." He hoped his smile was convincing.

"Well, aren't you two just adorable," Tom drawled, suddenly, lazily. The air felt rife with tension, and Harry wasn't completely sure why.

"Oh, um-" Pansy looked flushed now, glancing at Harry as if seeking back up.

"Of course," Tom waved a dismissive hand, "I dare say it would be more romantic if you weren't attempting to use him, and he wasn't planning on gaining information from you behind my back - I find it absolutely hilarious, by the way, sweetheart, that you've now decided to forgo the normal route of simply asking when you want to know something."

Because that wasn't an awkward, and carefully blunt thing to say, especially from someone who was more than adept with subtleties.

"I mean," Tom continued, smiling cruelly, "you could of at least chosen someone who was pretty…are you that desperate? For shame, Harry."

Parkinson's mouth opened once, then closed, and she looked like she was going to cry. Shit.

Harry felt absolutely awful. Just because he was going to use her for information didn't mean he was happy with her being humiliated, even if he didn't like her. Tom had a brutal, cutting tongue that he wouldn't wish on anyone, except perhaps Voldemort, Umbridge or Peter Pettigrew, and the first would be weird.

All the other Slytherins were staring rather fixatedly at anything that wasn't the Slytherin girl, utterly silent. Parkinson's jaw clenched, slightly, her lips trembling barely noticeably.

"Riddle…" Harry warned dangerously.

"Harry," Tom smiled at him, disarmingly, before surveying Parkinson with an icy, terribly amused gaze. "You're wasting my breathing space. Bye bye now."

The girl turned and walked away without another word, visibly shaken, heading for the dorms.

No one went after her.

Harry's brow furrowed. Bloody hero complex. He stood up instantly, about to follow her, only for a hand to snatch out and grip his wrist as he moved past, tightly.

"What's stuff?" Tom questioned, as if the entire prior conversation hadn't just happened.

It took Harry a few seconds to realise what Tom was talking about.

"None of your business," he said shortly, attempting to free his wrist, scant moments away from snapping out his wand and cursing, hard.

Harry could sense the whole of the common room watching them, and was suddenly aware that for all he bickered with Tom, it was normally more discreet and private than this - at least when it was on a relatively serious, non banter level and didn't involve either of them being genuinely _angry_. That they truly fought in front of an audience wasn't unheard of, but it was rare.

"Let go," he ordered, coldly.

"**She's just a girl, and not a very useful one at that, don't be so uptight,"** Tom hissed. "**You're causing a scene." **

Harry didn't bother switching to parseltongue; serve the arsehole right if he wanted to keep the contents of their conversation under wraps.

"I'm causing a scene?" he repeated, delicately. "Damn it Tom, what the hell is _wrong _with you? She didn't do anything - she didn't even approach me with the intention of betraying you!"

Tom studied him calmly for a moment, infuriatingly calmly.

"Hero complex flaring again?"

Harry felt his magic spark, and Tom dropped his arm as if scalded.  
He regarded the other flatly, anger subsiding somewhat to wary exhaustion.

Stupid Tom and his stupid freaking _mood swings_. He was fine earlier! In the room of requirement when they talking. Damn it- if he'd actually given Voldemort concussion of Harry's behalf he was _nice_ as far as Tom could be in his over protectiveness.

Harry could feel his own viciousness rising in response to Tom's rather obvious power play and efforts to control.

He knew that there was a reason for it, an explanation for why here and why now, but right now he was too frustrated and too _something_ to go searching for it in the convoluted corners of Tom's psyche.

"You want to know about stuff?" he questioned, sweetly, causing any insincere smile on Tom's lips to freeze in place. "Meeting with Dumbledore, actually. Light side stuff. Wouldn't expect you to get it."

If the tension was high in the common room before, it was stifling now, and terrified.

Harry turned to find Parkinson without another word…and then his arm locked into place.  
Why was-oh. Crap. He'd challenged Tom in his, for want of a better phrase, Dark Lord capacity with that last bit. Publicly. In the middle of the common room.

The other had to react, or lose face, and Tom was never willing to that for anyone. Not even him. He didn't have time for this.

He felt his back stiffen as Tom rose and came to a halt, right behind him. He didn't turn, but tightened his grip on his wand, ready to react on a split second notice.

"Light side stuff?" the Slytherin Heir questioned, with a chilling ring of pleasantness. "Pray, do tell?"

"…Is even less your business than the last," Harry said.

Fingers entangled in his hair, wrenching his head round, causing him to abruptly shift to accommodate the movement unless he wanted to get his neck snapped, or, at least, be highly uncomfortable. His wand was pointing at Tom in seconds, just as Tom's was pointed at him, each too close to miss should they choose to cast.

"These are the lessons the old man promised you."  
Right. Dumbledore had stated that in Tom's presence hadn't he? No point denying that then - not that Tom had phrased it as a question.

Lestrange twitched oddly.

"Which I'm going to be late for soon," Harry replied pointedly.

He could see thoughts spinning in Tom's gaze, consequences and tactics and incentives for not pushing this and preventing Harry from going to the meeting….which he probably could, due to the bloody mark (and he really needed to add that to his growing research list, along with time and the possibility of alternate universes.)

He met the other's gaze squarely, trying to silently relay the fact that Tom would not like the ramifications of acting like the control freak he was.

The question was…would Tom be willing to concede anything to him without being paid back twice fold?  
When they'd first met; there would have been no question regarding the resounding 'never.'

The whole of Slytherin seemed to be holding its breath.

"**Don't expect this to be a regular occurrence. You'll refuse the lessons."**

Harry automatically stamped on the rage swelling in his stomach at the sheer audacity of that order, keeping his face neutral. He merely inclined his head, enough to look like he was agreeing, but not actually committing his words to anything.

The hold on his arm released, and he immediately took a step back. He checked his watch - five minutes until seven.

He'd talk to Parkinson tomorrow.

He arrived at Dumbledore's office with his head whirling.

Having taken a step out of Tom's presence…and that always made it easier to think, and no, he was not going to analyse that…he was instantly cataloguing possible motivations behind Tom's actions.

Because, Tom was a bastard, and a sadist, a psychopath…but he was also someone who planned and considered his every word and action at genius speed in his mind before acting on them, if he had the time to do so.

So, what had changed to make Tom feel like he had to assert his power again? Vulnerability.

Tom always lashed out when he felt vulnerable or in some way uneasy, or uncomfortable…so, what had happened that would have made Tom feel vulnerable?

Well, there was the possibility that he'd had a run in with Voldemort, which Harry knew from experience could screw with anyone's head. Then there was the fact that Tom was starting to open up to him, like he claimed he'd never done to anyone before.

Yeah. That seemed about right…especially if one went by Hermione's hypothesis of 'Tom acts more psychopathic than normal after periods of niceness, as if to compensate that he would/could care and feel like everyone else.'

It would, if that was the case, pass…and Tom _was_ getting better with that.

The 'nice,' (well, Tom's idea and version of nice anyway) was slowly starting to crawl past Tom acting like a total bastard. He'd been largely 'nice' in Grimmauld, when they were alone…ooh…was that another factor?

Tom in private and Tom in public.

Tom in public had a certain reputation after all, and that was one that didn't allow the space for anyone to seriously challenge him without repercussions. Damn, he was confused.

Sometimes he wondered why Tom couldn't be simple?  
But, he supposed, nothing about them was…their whole dynamic was actually rather twisted if he wanted to study the _tragedy_ close enough, which, just for reference, he didn't.

He knocked on the door, entering.

The old man was sitting behind his desk, as always, fingers steeped beneath his chin.

A Pensieve lay on the table.

* * *

A/N: Mixed feelings on this chapter. Not my worst, but no where near my best.

The good part is...I am now over halfway through this story! It's got to the turning point to start ending/resolving, or however you phrase that.

I hope you guys are still enjoying the story...and frankly, if you still are I am AMAZED that you guys have stuck with me for this long. I probably wouldn't have - too long, and a bit rambly in places. I should work on that...but, the plot is ticking along beneath so all is good...

Thanks for the reviews :) They mean a lot. I've read all of them at least five times; they keep me inspired. 


	90. Chapter 89

I've come to the disturbing realisation that I'm starting to talk like Tom from writing him so much…one of my friends almost had a heart attack when I suddenly called him darling in the middle of mock bickering…oh dear. 

PS: If you recognise it, it's not mine! Though in all honesty, I'm sure JK would be a tad offended if you mistook my writing style (I've been told it's quite distinctive?) with her masterpiece. I used HBP for this one ;)

* * *

Chapter 89:

Zevi stared down, intently, at the floor, frightened to draw Tom's attention.

However much Harry and Tom bickered, however much they baited and goaded and struggled for dominance on a near daily basis…they didn't really _fight_ in front of people.

Maybe it was something about being famous, but Harry did go to some effort to keep his private life exactly that - private. So Harry must be rather pissed off to rant at Tom in the middle of the common room…and not just mad, but stressed, exhausted and something Tom did must have hit a nerve somewhere where Harry himself wasn't even sure it had hit, or why.

Tom…Tom had been shockingly lenient on the boy. Of course, the lack of immediate reaction meant nothing, Tom tended to deal with Harry privately too, he always had, because if situations between the two of them were public they escalated quickly.

It was the same old pattern; Harry provoked Tom, Tom proved his dominance, and Harry lashed out to regain his own control and independence…spiralling on and on until they actually talked it out.

He'd suggest a non marital marriage councillor if he thought it would help. It wouldn't, firstly because neither would ever open up in front of anything resembling a psychiatrist or therapist, secondly because they would take his head off if he did suggest it and lastly because no councillor of any sort would be able to stand their rather twisted and complex relationship for too long, because though it would no doubt be the most _fascinating _case they ever took, those two also tended to freak people out in intensity. Any therapist would give themselves a migraine trying to figure out all the knots and bumps and scars.

Yet…it worked. He couldn't deny that. It did work for them. In an odd way, Harry and Tom were absolutely perfect for each other.

That didn't stop him from keeping his head down and trying not to get into the middle of it though.

He dared a glance up, to see Tom had turned back to his text in the minutes after Harry left, seemingly careless. He wasn't careless.

It was the eyes; frosted violets in the dead of winter, so cold that they chilled everything around them like a Dementor's touch.

He swallowed slightly, hastily averting his gaze again. To stare too long was to tempt a terrible fate onto oneself - it was like staring at an iced sun, beautifully, brilliantly bright, but liable to burn your eyes out. No, this was a story to be heard and felt, not watched directly….

* * *

Draco swallowed, eyeing his grandfather in the desperate hopes that the other would provide him with some reassurance or gesture to tell him what he should do.

But he didn't look over his way, mercury eyes shut off from all emotion, attentive only to Riddle and the nuances of his mood. Though it stung, he didn't blame Abraxas in the slightest.

It was plain stupidity to take your gaze off the most dangerous person in the room, even for a second, because he knew the Slytherin Heir could probably kill a man in under that.

Riddle seemed completely at ease though, so he wasn't really sure why all their past relatives were so utterly rigid…except…Riddle just radiated a type of danger right now, like a timed curse that could go off at any given moment without warning or word. It was - disquieting.

He honestly didn't know how Harr-Potter could stand to bait him so, and risk being on the wrong end of this mood. Well, plain stupidity coupled with a wilful defiance and conviction for his own morals probably, but that was besides the point. Riddle wasn't someone you wanted to mess with.

"Tom," a voice began, soothingly, and this time Draco did feel the needed to stiffen. God damn Lestrange.

The man's sway over Slytherin was deteriorating like paper in the rain with every second that he lost favour with Riddle, but that just made him desperate, clinging harder to the fragments and resulting to Riddle pushing him even further away in disgust and disinterest.

Of course, Lestrange was competent despite initial beliefs, so Riddle was liable to have sudden bursts of 'interest' towards the other, specifically when Potter wasn't around, but that's what they were - bursts, mockeries, a cruel reminder of what could be and wouldn't, another mind game.

Lestrange didn't seem to notice that part, or if he did, he directed his emotions regarding it straight at Potter in utter hatred. When Potter was around, Lestrange didn't tend to get so much as a glance from the Slytherin Heir…and Cygnus was pushing his luck to think he could initiate intimacy or favouritism now, when his compatriots stared so fixatedly at anything that wasn't their lord, probably for good reason. Sure, Riddle looked calm but…his grandfather seemed more than a little wary.

Riddle's eyes sliced upwards, onto Lestrange's face, but he didn't respond. Lestrange must have took that for a good sign, for he continued with more boldness.

"Just ignore Potter. He's a disrespectful waste of space. You shouldn't have to listen to him anyway…he's not worth your time."

Riddle's head tilted slightly to one side, expression unreadable.

"I suppose you believe you would be more worth my time, Cygnus?"

Lestrange almost trembled with excitement, and Draco felt an odd pang of jealousy. In current times, the more favour you had with the Slytherin Heir, the more power you had in Slytherin, and the more following, because influence with Riddle meant a possibility of Riddle taking a personal interest if you were mentioned by the one with influence if you followed them…and if that went anywhere, then your 'patron' for want of a better word, who had initially mentioned you to the Slytherin Heir would benefit from having your debt, and you could gain following and power of your own.

Lestrange was still closer to Riddle than he was, though he was probably the closest in terms of any present day Slytherin (barring Potter, and he didn't count) due to his Grandfather's position, and Potter's quasi-favour regarding him ever since the Remembrall incident. Riddle didn't much like him, and the glares he was liable to send was enough to make him shiver, but Riddle did keep an eye on him which only improved his standing because it suggested a level of importance.

"With all due respect, yes," Lestrange said, with a smug albeit nervous glint in his eyes.

Riddle smiled, a twist of the lips and nothing more as he set his book in his lap and surveyed the other with an increased attention. Lestrange seemed about to faint with glee.

"All due respect…" Riddle murmured, thoughtfully.

Draco flicked his gaze around the room; Abraxas was watching neutrally, but his knuckles were bleached with tight-fisted tension if one looked closely enough against the already fair Malfoy skin. Zevi Prince was still as stone, expression hidden with his concentration rather too pointedly on the potion's essay in his hands and Black had contempt visible in his gaze, and a trace of bloodlust in the quirk of his brow.

Draco could feel a horrible squirming, tightening sensation is his gut, and could only wonder how Lestrange appeared so obliviously unaffected as the brunette moved forward, reaching as if to place a comforting hand on the Slytherin Heir's shoulder.

His fingers curled convulsively in his lap against the urge to flinch.

The next second, Lestrange was spluttering, Riddle's hand on his throat, squeezing with a casual callousness.

"You overstep your boundaries, Cygnus," Riddle tisked, mockingly.

"I-I can't-" Lestrange's hands twitched against the urge to claw for air, his eyes bulging, his lips tingeing blue.

"Breathe?" Riddle finished, indifferently. "And yet you still don't shut up. My, at this rate oxygen starvation may actually be an improvement to your brain's capacities."

Riddle held on for another few seconds, a deceptive strength in his slender fingers, watching uncaringly, before he simply dropped the other. Lestrange crumpled to a heap by the Slytherin Heir's feet, gasping for air, eyes streaming. He was trembling all over, hunched.

"Go and find Parkinson, Cygnus. The poor girl looked like she wanted some company," Riddle said, dismissively.

Draco couldn't help but wonder if it had truly been the liberties that Lestrange had taken…as opposed to his words.

He had the feeling that scene would never played if Harry had been there though.

* * *

"Professor," Harry greeted, neutrally, surreptitiously looking around himself for some indication as to what these 'lessons' would be about. There was no duelling space cleared.

"Good evening, Harry - do sit down. Lemon drop?" Harry shook his head, not trusting himself to respond more scathingly. "I originally planned to follow things in a different order with you," Dumbledore began, though his benign smile faltered briefly. "But due to unexpected circumstances there's been a change of plan."

"What exactly do these…lessons entail…sir?" Harry asked, feeling marginally curious despite himself. He eyed the Pensieve warily. "That thing?"

"You are not fond of pensieves?" Dumbledore questioned, smiling slightly. "I find them to be rather useful objects myself."

Harry said nothing. His reaction could probably speak for itself. He was sick of memories, lost or found to be honest.

"Not to worry," Dumbledore continued cheerfully, misinterpreting his distaste. "You'll be entering with me this time, and even more unusually, with permission."

"Who's memory are we going into?" he asked, "and regarding what?"

Dumbledore merely waved for him to approach the bowl. He stared at the Headmaster for a few seconds, before dipping into the bowl and tumbling downwards through darkness, only to land seconds later on the firm ground of a bustling, old-fashioned London street.

Great, two Dumbledore's - and he knew the forms of both with hairs and beards of Auburn and silver on either side of him. And the most…awful suit of a flamboyantly cut plum velvet.

"Nice suit," Harry said dryly, but Dumbledore only chuckled, following after the memory.

They arrived shortly at a grim, square building surrounded by high railings, like a prison. An orphanage. Harry suddenly got a terrible, plunging feeling his stomach. Was this…?

"Good afternoon, I have an appointment with Mrs Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?"

It was. Tom's orphanage. Damn it to hell.

He looked at the present day Dumbledore, furiously.

"No," he said flatly. "Get me out of this memory. This isn't right."

Dumbledore looked at him with some surprise.

"I thought you wanted to help the light?" the Headmaster questioned. Harry clenched his fists, ignoring the memory swirling around them.

"How is Tom's home life relevant in helping the light?" he snapped. "It isn't even yours to tell me. If you want to do something, teach me where how to cast Fiendfyre of buy me a vial of basilisk venom."

Dumbledore regarded him calmly.

"It is for the Greater good. Trust me."

"Trust _you_?" Harry scoffed, raising his brows. "I'm not that stupid."

There was a flicker of hurt and disappointment in blue eyes, but it was gone in seconds, and the scene morphed as Dumbledore junior moved away, blurry, before focussing again in an old office, presumably within the Orphanage himself.

This time, there was a skinny, harassed-looking women with a sharp face that on initial impressions seemed more anxious than unkind. Harry sucked in an angry breath.

"I want out of this memory - you can't make me watch this! I won't!"

Dumbledore senior merely watched the scene unfolding before them, leaving Harry little choice but to do the same and silently vow to never enter Dumbledore's pensieve again.

"-I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history? I think he was born here in the orphanage?" young Dumbledore questioned. Harry grit his teeth.

"That's right," Mrs Cole agreed, helping herself to more of something that looked like gin, though her eyes had hardened. "I remember it clear as anything, because I'd just started here myself. New Years's Eve and bitter cold, snowing, you know. Nasty night. And this girl, not much older than I was myself at the time, came staggering up the front steps. Well, she wasn't the first," Cole's nose wrinkled. "We took her in and she had the baby within the hour. And she was dead in another hour."

Jesus. Mrs Cole nodded as if this was some impressive gossip, not a small boy's mother, taking another helping of gin.

"Did she say anything before she died?" Dumbledore asked. "Anything about the boy's father, for instance?"

"Now, as it happen, she did," Mrs Cole said. Harry looked at the older Dumbledore again, his eyes flashing.

"What is the point of this?" he questioned, coldly. "I already knew Tom was a half blood if you're hoping I will go off on some spurt of rage against his hypocrisy….cause, you know, been there, done that."

Dumbledore signalled for him to listen, but his patience seemed less now. Harry huffed, before his ears caught words.

"-He scares the other children."

"You mean he's a bully?"

"I think he must be," Cole frowned, "but it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents…nasty things."

Well, that explained the mystery. He turned to Dumbledore again.

"You're trying to show me what an evil little boy, he was? Clearly unredeemable? Is that it?" Harry demanded, furiously. "By my reckoning, those kids probably deserved it. You have no idea what it's like - you probably had a fantastic childhood! Children are cruel."

"-But even so, it didn't hang itself from the rafters, did it?"

"Sadistic torture of animals," the elder Dumbledore said to him, quietly. "In this case, a rabbit, clear early signs of a psychopath."

"I already knew he was a Psychopath," Harry said stubbornly, even if the thing about the rabbit did turn his insides.

Had this Billy Stubbs been one of the children to bully Tom in turn?

"Try again," he ordered coldly.

"-Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were never quite right afterwards, and all we ever got out of them was that they'd gone into a cave with Tom Riddle. He swore they'd just gone exploring, but _something_ happened in there…"

And the memory didn't get any better.

* * *

When they resurfaced, Harry was fuming, and didn't wait for Dumbledore to say anything before he stormed out the door.

Screw those lessons - if they involved an anti-_Tom_ campaign, he didn't want them.

Sure, Tom was a bloody creepy child, but to be honest he wasn't any less psychopathic as a teenager. God, he noticed the Cole women completely neglected to mention anything about the other children hurting Tom, and Dumbledore - oh, sure, great way to introduce a kid to magic, terrify them with your power because that would really make sure they didn't feel like they were stepping into a battlefield.

"Mr Potter-" Dumbledore called, after him, a hint of impatience in his voice. He ignored it.

This felt wrong. He wanted to know about Tom, and Tom's past, but he didn't want to hear it from anyone who wasn't Tom! No one else had the same true claim to whether or not he deserved to know, or should know.

Hell, if Tom knew he was just taking joy rides through his past with Dumbledore, any trust they'd built up between them would be brutally shot to pieces. He didn't want that. Maybe if he was Harry Potter, it would be okay…but…Tom was his _friend._ He couldn't betray his trust like that with Dumbledore, without a good reason.

Okay, he was trying to investigate through Parkinson, but that was different! That was them! And this was…this was other people.

No. It was a mistake.

Merlin, his thoughts were a mess.

He entered the common room, exhausted mentally and physically, pausing at the sight of the figure by the fire.

Who else but Tom? The Slytherin Heir was most likely waiting up for him. He paused on the threshold, before sighing and walking over, dropping onto the opposite end of the couch. He didn't know why - it wasn't like almost every other chair wasn't free at this time on a school night, it was more habit than anything else.

"Have fun with your light side stuff?" Tom asked, evenly.

"Not particularly," Harry said flatly, still feeling slightly annoyed with the way that Tom had treated Parkinson with such unnecessary cruelty. Tom smirked, briefly, glancing sideways at him with a wink.

"Dark side's much more fun. You'd enjoy it. Promise."

"I'll take your word for it," Harry said, smiling despite himself. He stared thoughtfully at Tom, causing the other to raise a brow at him. "You seem oddly calm considering I yelled at you in front of your followers," he said, carefully.

"I have impeccable self control," Tom replied, tone a little darker now, "and would probably regret it in the morning if I starting decapitating your body parts."

"I'm wondering if I should be offended by the 'probably' in that statement," Harry returned dryly.

Tom smirked at him, less friendly this time and more like a shark. There was a pause.

"So, what did the old man want?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, before tilting his head and frowning.

"What counts as baiting?" he questioned, in a mixture between flippancy and caution.

"Smart boy," Tom remarked, eyes glittering with more than a little menace and something else. Amusement? Fondness? Merlin knew. "Though one would think that would have you moving away."

"You've threatened me plenty of times before," Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "And dislocated my fingers, among other things"

"Even more reason that most people would have expected you to run by now."

Harry swallowed, but didn't shift his gaze.

"That a hint?" he asked. "Cause I'm too tired to second guess you right now."

To his surprise, Tom laughed.

"No, it's not a hint….just trying to figure you out is all," Tom murmured.

Harry's mind flashed back to Voldemort.

"What, so you can leave and not have to deal with this?" he questioned, before his mind caught up with him. Tom looked at him sharply. Er. Crap. "That came out wrong…" he tried, before standing up abruptly. "I'm just going to go to bed."

"-Harry-"

"Goodnight, Tom."

No…he didn't run.

He'd talk to Pansy tomorrow.

He sat down on his bed, wearily, half convinced Tom was going to come charging in after him and drag him out into the common room for a little chat. Everything was just so confusing.

Without thinking about it, he picked up the locket horcrux in his hand, finding comfort in turning the smooth gold in his hands.

It had a calming effect. Had Tom really sorted out the visions? For real, this time? Of a month, anyway?

He closed his eyes, sleepy, the chain sliding past his fingers and pooling into his hand.

Tomorrow...tomorrow he'd go looking for answers.

* * *

A/N: Whew. That's the longest chapter I've ever wrote for Fanfiction. I hope you guys liked it. And guess who's making another appearance soon? =P

Thanks for the reviews, and for still staying with this story! Much appreciated (and I can't say that enough!) 


	91. Chapter 90

Chapter 90:

Harry pulled Parkinson aside after allowing her some time for her breakfast, ignoring the eyes he could feel boring into his back.

They had a free period first anyway.

She wouldn't look at him, her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment and her eyes downcast, refusing to meet his gaze. He sighed, sitting down on a window ledge over looking the courtyard.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," he began quietly, causing her head to jerk up slightly. "On my own behalf as well as Tom's because you'd never get an apology out of him, however wrong he was. Stubborn bastard, that one."

He was pleased to note Pansy's lips twitched a tiny bit in amusement at the last line.

"Seriously though," he continued, "you shouldn't take what he says to heart…he's a sadist, he enjoys causing people pain."

She glanced up at him, with a genuine shyness that seemed a world away from her failed deliberate coyness in the last few days.

"He was right though," she mumbled. "I'm not very pretty. That's why I…" she swallowed. "Would you ever date me?"

Oh no. He couldn't deal with this…girl…stuff.

"Um," he began, helplessly. "Maybe. Under different circumstances." _Probably not. No._

"Different circumstances as in if I was pretty, like Greengrass or that Chang girl," she smiled, bitterly. Harry's brow furrowed. He was going to bloody kill Tom. Tactless psychopath!

"No," he said flatly. "Different circumstances as in I don't have a Dark Lord aiming to kill me or anyone who gets close to me. Different circumstances as in if I either us actually cared for each other…I mean, you don't, er, seem to fancy me?" he proposed hesitantly. "It was all rather sudden. So, why did you, um…"

"Flirt with you?" she finished dully, though there was a spark of entertainment in her gaze at his awkwardness. "Try and use you?"

"That," Harry said. She studied him seriously.

"How much do you know of how Slytherin Hierarchy works?" she questioned.

"Not as much as I should," Harry admitted easily.

"Well, to put it into simple terms for you, the closer one is to the leader of Slytherin - the more favour they have - then the more power and sway they have over the rest of Slytherin themselves…the higher status. There are lots of other factors too, but I won't go into them now."

"So you wanted to get closer to me and by proxy, Tom?" Harry said, wondering if he should be insulted or not. "Why not just go with Abraxas, or Zevi."

"Riddle doesn't tend to harm those that you're close to," Parkinson stated. "And you're second top in Slytherin…and probably first in the school when public opinion is going your way."

Harry's nose wrinkled.

"How come you're the first person to try it then?" he asked, suddenly.

"Because you're a gamble," she said. "Firstly, because you don't pay caution to our systems at _all_ so there is no guarantee with you, and secondly because Riddle is exceedingly possessive of you and is liable to lash out at anyone who tries if you don't step in to prevent that, which, just so you know, does work against your insistence that he's not your lover."

"He's not-" Harry began.

"Possessive of you?" Parkinson raised her brows. "Yes he is."

"He's not my lover either," Harry added, a little irritated. Pansy waved a dismissive hand, as if the truth of the claim was entirely irrelevant. In a way it was, if people thought they were dating then they would act like they were, despite his rebuttals.

Harry bit his lip.

"You're being very open about this," he said, marginally suspicious.

"I have nothing to lose in honesty," she replied, jutting her chin slightly. "I need your…protection and with your hideously Gryffindor sensibilities and admittedly Slytherin understanding of events I can't exactly get away with lying."

"Protection?" Harry questioned, his insides twinging with anxiety, before he shook himself. Not the time. "And if I give you my protection, what does that involve and how does it benefit me?"

She stared at him, before looking oddly like she was going to laugh.

"Blunt, aren't you?"

"I grew up in a lion pride," Harry smirked.

"And work in the snake pit?" she returned, before her demeanour turned rather alarmingly business like, vulnerability retreated to her eyes alone. "Stand up for me if the other's start mocking me…single me out to talk to once in a while. We don't even have to pretend to date. In return I'll…" she took a deep breath. "I'll tell you about the stuff Riddle's snakes won't tell you….explain the things none of the others will. Riddle seemed to think you wanted information."

Harry surveyed her for a moment, once more hit by the bizarreness of Slytherin politics and its synthesis of emotions and stoicism.

And yet…wasn't this a win-win scenario of what they'd both initially wanted when they started trying to do this in the way of Slytherin subtleties and masks of flirtation?

"Okay," he agreed, before checking his watch. "We have potions," he said, unnecessarily.

She nodded, looking nervous. His own compassion reared his head again.

"Come on, we can walk together. And…er...Pansy? I really am sorry that Tom is such an arsehole. You're not ugly, you're just…" pug-faced. "Not like a baby doll, different."

She offered him a blinding smile that somehow made her look more like a girl.  
And a pretty one.

* * *

He could feel Tom's eyes on him all through Potions, but he didn't comment on it or give any indication that he was aware of it.

Snape was eyeing him as well. He wasn't all that surprised when the Potions master ordered him to stay behind at the end of the lesson, just as he was about to flee the door.

Sighing, he wandered back to the desk, where Snape was shifting through a stack of third year papers.

Harry winced at the large D scrawled on the top one in vivid red ink, along with the words "absolutely appalling. A spider who crawled over an inkwell may have been able to write the assignment better than you. More research needed - and a Tentacula leaf is NOT interchangeable with the root of a venomous tentacula plant."

He looked up when Snape spoke.

"You will no longer be serving detention with me, Mr Potter. Report to the Headmaster's office at seven O clock."

Harry's mouth almost dropped open, but he kept it closed by sheer force of emotionless.

"Excuse me…uh, sir?" he added hastily. "Do you mean to imply that Dumbledore's taken charge of my detentions?"

"_Professor_ Dumbledore, Potter," Snape snarled, but there was a curious lack of menace. "And I'm not implying anything you stupid boy; he is taking your detentions for the foreseeable future and you will report to his office at seven O clock sharp."

This was unbelievable.

"No," he said flatly. "Triple my detentions and have Filch make me hunt for Acromantula eggs in the forbidden forest, but I will not have them with _Professor_ Dumbledore."

Snape regarded him, darkly, his lips thin.

"Seven O clock. The Headmaster's Office," the greasy bat repeated. "Now, get out of my classroom. It's bad enough that I've had to tolerate your presence for the whole hour already."

Harry inclined his head, tightly, before turning around and storming out, slamming the door shut behind him out of pure vindictiveness.

The nerve of that man! Dumbledore, not Snape for once. He wasn't going. They could assign him with a year's worth of detentions and he wouldn't spend a second of it in the old man's presence.

Yes, he wanted the greater good, but right now Harry didn't feel like he could give a damn about the greater good, he gave a damn about his own life and mental health, as shocking as some may find that.

It was only when a hand shot out, pulling him to an abrupt stop, that he realised he'd completely walked past Tom in his fury, too wrapped up in his own thoughts. The Slytherin Heir arched his brows.

"Bad day, sunshine?"

"Tom," he greeted, managing to cool his rage long enough to sound neutral instead of snappish, if not warm. "Something like that. Sorry if I ignored you. I didn't see you."

"Because that's not almost as insulting as you ignoring me," Tom returned dryly, studying him intently. "What did Professor Snape want?"

"To inform me of a change of plan in my detentions," Harry said, voice restrained, the anger flaring again in memory.

"Why do you have detention?" Tom questioned, frowning.

"For going out and getting drunk with you," he scowled. "Why do you _not _have detention?"

"Because in this time period my records say that I've graduated so I'm not bound to the school rules so much as you are, and can thus come and go as I please without getting in too much hassle if I don't cause a disruption. We all can."

"That's so unfair!" Harry grumbled. Tom smirked, clapping his shoulder mockingly.

"I saw you went off with Parkinson this morning," the other said after a moment of silence. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, walking again.

"Yeah. We had a great time. Who knew broom cupboards were so accommodating," he drawled.

Tom shot him a scathing look. He grinned back, with a fake brightness.

Tom pulled him to a stop once more, a few metres outside of the courtyard where he was heading to meet Ron and Hermione. Harry folded his arms, just waiting for Tom to start.

To his surprise, the young Dark Lord merely appraised him for a moment, before speaking in a low, measured tone.

"You should be careful, golden boy, if you plan to start playing with my system. I know it a lot better than you."

Harry was once more left wondering exactly how much Tom knew about Harry's comings and goings, and had the sudden flash of paranoid thinking that hissed to him that Tom had a Pansy of his own. He shook it away a moment later.

"You don't object? Considering the fuss you made about Parkinson in the Common Room?" he asked.

Tom shrugged carelessly, a wicked glint in his gaze.

"Well, I don't think you'll get anywhere...but I know I'll enjoy watching you struggle to keep up."

Because that was reassuring.

* * *

Harry seemed rather on edge around seven O clock, and seemed to only grow more tense as the evening progressed…seven thirty, eight, eight thirty…he didn't understand it, personally.

Although, if Abraxas wanted to be brutally honest with himself (and he normally did, he just didn't like to be honest with anyone else) there were lot of things about Harry he didn't understand - and the primary of those was Harry's dynamic with his lord.

The two of them were a fascination to study, individually but even more so in relation to each other, but it wasn't a study that led to many answers.

Rather, it was simply the base expression of emotions and snapshots, a crimson and silver thread, a golden and emerald stitching of their history, spun in the delicate but binding yarns of Fate to weave a story that none of them could entirely conceive.

It was too complex to be fully understood, too incoherent and garbled by facades, and yet so truthful that it hurt and rang a chord so deep that your own soul seemed to tremble in anticipation of their passing.

Tom's eyes fixed upon the younger every so often, considering, never staying long, but aware…hyper aware, and Harry's did the same, observing. Most of the time they missed each other, but occasionally their gazes clashed in meeting like a shard of captured lightning, speaking more openly and more guardedly than their words ever did.

Neither Tom nor Harry were the type of person upon whom you would attribute the term of 'co-dependency,' but in this case it sprung to mind - preceded closely by the word 'toxic.'

They were utterly obsessed with each other, their moods depended on each other's moods, they neglected others when they were together, they didn't do well being separated for long periods of time and they constantly manipulated each other and struggled for dominance.

It really wasn't healthy…and yet…they seemed largely happy with it, and he feared the psychological consequences of forcibly trying to bring the heat down a notch or force them to take some space.

As such, Abraxas (and he knew his Lord too) was one of the few people observing Harry close enough to notice the way his eyes also spent time flicking towards the door, or how his muscles tightened when the door opened.

It was intriguing, and he knew Tom thought so too, for his scrutiny of the other was becoming less an occasional flicker of attention and more of a sustained study, like one studied a puzzle or a difficult arithmency equation.

He was, however, surprised when Albus Dumbledore walked into their common room, efficiently silencing all conversation, followed closely by their current head of house.

He noted that Zevi shifted grouchily, avoiding the Potion Master's gaze. Salazar, he was so glad he had Draco instead of the Dungeon bat. The blonde was an alright kid once he got past the awkwardness.

Harry's head shot up, and Tom's magic began flittering as the Headmaster walked over.

He exchanged a glance with his grandson, wordlessly commanding him to stay put and not draw attention to himself. Kid was alright...but he wasn't the most subtle always. He had a lot on his shoulders...

"Perhaps you think you are above the rules, Mr Potter," Dumbledore said coolly. "When a member of the faculty assigns you with a detention, you are obligated to attend it,"

Harry's body drew back, fractionally, defensively, whereas Tom's shifted into one liable to attack and burst into offensive at any given moment.

"Perhaps," Harry returned, his voice cold, "I would, _sir_, if you assigned me a traditional detention instead of some ploy to force your unwanted council."

"A student does not get to choose his punishment, that would make it ineffective."

"A headmaster does not get to abuse his position for the sake of his blind righteousness!" Harry snapped. "By all means, give me a detention, I'm happy to serve it - but don't expect me to serve it with you…and doesn't that go against school policy, sir? I didn't believe it was the job of the Headmaster to supervise a student's detention over something so trivial as sneaking out of school grounds to get drunk with a friend."

Harry smiled, utterly without warmth.

"You wouldn't want to be accused of favouritism."

Dumbledore looked around the silent common room, blue eyes sweeping across them all and judging them in a matter of seconds.

"Please come outside, Mr Potter, this is not the place for this topic," Dumbledore instructed curtly. Harry didn't move, eyeing the Headmaster with unveiled rage.

"I think I'll stay here, thank you," he said, awfully, uncharacteristically, polite.

"This is not up for discussion," Dumbledore said.

Harry sank back further into the sofa in response, rifling through his bag in defiant dismissal. The Headmaster took a step forward, and Snape twitched as if about to move, only to still once more as if it had never even happened.

"Fine, then, Mr Potter," Dumbledore smiled, suddenly, causing Harry's gaze to flick up warily. "We can discuss school policy here if you wish. We have many rules, and one of them is that students stay in their own common rooms…the sorting hat put you in Gryffindor, I believe?"

"It also put him in Slytherin, I believe," Tom said, icily, speaking for the first time. "So he has as much as right to stay here."

"Oh, but I wouldn't wish to be accused of favouritism," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "It hardly seems fair to allow Mr Potter to switch houses when other students were denied the same opportunity. Therefore, one must return him to house he was initially chosen for."

Harry's lips were almost white with fury, his fists clenched, and Tom's eyes held nothing but hatred and contempt.

"And yet…you come to this decision so long after the initial transfer occurred? Why, if one wanted to look unfavourably upon your rather…eccentric…term of office one might suspect you of ulterior motives," Tom replied, smoothly, without missing a beat.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed.

"It is hardly the place of a student, my dear boy, to question school policy or the judgements of those in charge of him," he said pleasantly. Ouch.

"No," Tom said, softly, lethally, after a moment. "But I'm the Heir of Slytherin, and he the Heir of Gryffindor - so one could argue it is more than our prerogative in that respect. He was sorted into Slytherin, and he is welcome in my court for as long as he pleases."

"I thought you were all for house unity, professor?" Harry added, innocently.

Dumbledore stared at them both for a few moments, in a terrible silence. Then he walked out as quickly as he came, and Harry visibly deflated, watching the door with a strange expression.

Tom's gaze snapped back to the younger, no pretences in his observation this time.

The Common Room was still muted in screaming silence.

Harry tore his gaze back to the Slytherin Heir, clearly feeling the weight of that intense, burning gaze. Abraxas himself was sure even he, a Malfoy born and bred, would buckle under its pressure, but Harry simply shrugged, albeit uncomfortably.

"You don't want to know," he muttered.

"Oh," Tom returned dangerously, "I really think I do, sweetheart."

* * *

A/N: Not as long as last time…but still quite long. I hope you enjoyed it =) Happy Halloween! Thank you so much for the reviews! They bring happiness in my currently stressful existence…and I probably won't have as much time for updating anymore (but I've said that before and continued, so we'll see…) 


	92. Chapter 91

Do you guys like it when I do other character POVs? Do you want me to keep doing them? And if so, any requests?

* * *

Chapter 91:

Harry looked away, feeling inexplicably embarrassed.

The reasons for his argument were too Gryffindorish…too…expressive in their intent. Sure, he cared about Tom, and didn't tolerate Dumbledore making him out to be devil spawn, but he didn't want Tom to know that he was arguing with the light lord on his behalf.

It was too…too something, because that was eloquent! Sometimes he really wished he had the other's way with words.

The Slytherin Heir was still studying him, gaze piercing his skin like shards of some precious jewel to cut through bone and muscle alike to see the truth of things. Harry sighed, heavily, folding his arms.

"Correction," he said. **"I don't want you to know."**

"Since when have I ever cared about whether or not you _want_ to tell me something _I _want to know?" Tom returned, smirking, though his eyes were serious. Harry scowled.

"I walked out on Dumbledore. He's pissed off," he said shortly. Instead of looking appeased, Tom seemed even more curious than before, taking a step towards him, head tilting in his scrutiny.

"Why did you walk out on him?"

"For reasons which are my own," Harry replied, shaking his head. "I have homework."

Tom was silent, before he abruptly rose to his feet, heading towards the dorm.

"Come."

Harry felt his arm give a light tug, and almost growled in annoyance and fury.

He followed, knowing he would look even more ridiculous and helpless getting dragged along the floor, and then he'd have to explain why Tom could do that.

Bloody Slytherins who backed you into corners.

Bloody Dark Lords.

He slammed the door shut behind him, hearing a mutter of voices behind him as they did.

"I hate it when they withdrew to argue like that…"

"I know - I want to see what they talk about!"

"...kiss and makeup?"

* * *

Dumbledore paced back to his office, frowning slightly, his fingers clasped behind his back.

He shouldn't have snapped like that, shouldn't have been so pushy, so demanding…clearly Voldemort's more subtle masks were more effective.

He needed to give the boy space.

It was just so difficult, he could barely stand to look at the two of them, together. It was too fraught with memories, peppering his insides with bullets and scars of times past. Of his own story.

Of Gellert.

History had the most horrible way of repeating itself.

Didn't Harry see that it was all going to wrong? That, when this all came to an end, he'd spend the rest of his life trapped in the moments they had shared? Of course he would; the two of them were utterly fixated on each other, obsessed in their love…or whatever equivalent Riddle possessed.

He'd tried so hard to keep Harry from walking down this treacherous past, tried to remove all obstacles that could possibly lead to the same youthful arrogance as he himself had been attributed with. He'd been so arrogant, unflinching from the praise and the accolades, revelling it…just like Harry with his fame, high on the empowerment of his growing independence and self-awareness.

He'd thought putting him with the Dursley's, with obscurity, and yes, perhaps even neglect, would have been better, kinder, for the boy than to shape him in his own image or that of Voldemort's.

And yet, that happened anyway, inevitably - the second those two met.

Gellert Grindewald and Albus Dumbledore.

Tom Riddle and Harry Potter.

Sometimes he didn't see young Harry anymore, he just saw himself, a distorted snapshot of what he could have been or was - and that swayed his judgements and actions past repair, to an aggressiveness he hadn't known in many years, and didn't want to.

Every mistake the young boy made, was simply a reflection, an echo, of his own, and that made it even more difficult to resist the urge to pounce and deflect and forcibly tear everything in the mirror to pieces so he didn't have to look at it.

He simply couldn't bear it, to see it all clawed up to the surface, and yet again in the hands of the one who was supposed to save them.

To save them all.

Voldemort was nothing, this whole situation seemed little else but the cruel repetitions and ministrations of Fate.

And he had to fix it. No matter the means.

The Wizarding World could not fall into Darkness.

Everyone would get hurt - and Harry most of all.

* * *

Tom was sat down on his bed, casually, infuriatingly casually.

"You know, the arm thing is a really low blow," Harry spat, perhaps more angry because the teenager in front of him was the reason he was arguing with his extremely powerful and influential Headmaster…who could probably make his life hell, and who, by all rights, Harry should be on side with against Voldemort.

Maybe it was because he wasn't respecting Harry's right to privacy and silence when Harry went to such extremes to respect his.

The manipulation of the mark was in itself a mere nuisance, a sad fact of life he'd resigned himself until further research notice that told him how to manipulate it himself.

He looked away, too furious to meet the other's face, but knowing full well that he couldn't leave as well as he once could. He went over to his bed instead, (he was still so happy he actually had his own bed now!) adjacent to Tom's.

"You're annoyed," Tom noted.

"Great observation, genius," he returned flatly, still looking anywhere else.

He heard a tut, chiding, and footsteps as Tom crossed over, leaning against one of his bed posts, directly in his line of view.

"You know, if you're going to sulk about something, don't agree to it in the first place."

"I'm not sulking," Harry bit out.

"No, you're just avoiding my gaze, fidgeting moodily, sighing heavily and talking through your teeth in practise of a non existent school production, right?" Tom returned sarcastically.

"You didn't audition? Everyone's an actor when all the world's a stage."

"Stop butchering Shakepeare," Tom said flatly, before twisting once more into his sight, closer this time, resting the palms of his hands on either side of Harry's legs, face level with his own.

So much for personal space.

He flinched back slightly, feeling emotionally drained from his confrontation with Dumbledore.

The old man wasn't _bad_, he was just righteous and couldn't see past his own beliefs to see the validity of another's. Just because a method was different, that didn't make it wrong, or opposing.

"You know, I can't do anything if you don't tell me what's wrong."

Harry's eyes shot up at that, startled, before flicking away as Tom's own lit up with some emotion or thought he'd accidentally given away. He waited for the next words with some trepidation.

To his utmost surprise, Tom simply smiled slightly, before backing off and wandering back towards the common room. Harry blinked.

"You're giving up?" the words blurted from his mouth without permission.

Tom twisted to face him slightly, the smile vanished in the place of a smirk.

"I never give up, Harry. You should know that by now…if you don't have detention tomorrow night, then, you're having another Occlumency lesson."

Harry's expression froze.

"Tom-"

"It's not up for discussion. You gave me your word."

"And you said you wouldn't use them for anything underhand - which, using a lesson as an excuse to rifle through my mind, is."

"I don't know what you mean," Tom said innocently, before his smirk broadened. "Besides, I could legilimens you outside of Occlumency lessons if I really wanted to, you know that full well. At least if it's a lesson you get something out of it…which you vowed to attend. Would you break my trust in your oath?"

Because that didn't just effectively cut off any argument he could have made.

Damn it.

* * *

The Occlumency lesson loomed far too quickly, racing to meet him like a lover at an airport - but not as friendly.

Harry had the awful feeling that the lesson itself would, however, slow to an excruciating length of time. He was half temped to just not go.

But…he'd given his word, hadn't he? And he might need that capability to go against Tom's seeming 'trust' with something more important than his own wounded pride and reluctance.

That was how he found himself in the Room of Requirement at eight O clock, sitting opposite Tom on a sofa, eyeing the yew wand warily and tensed before they had began.

He half expected Tom to just break into his mind the second he walked in, to be honest, and that he hadn't was even more disconcerting.

"Okay," Tom began, "there are four different types of Occlumency barrier, with individual differences for every person in each - Emotional Offensive, Emotional Defensive, Stoic Offensive and Stoic Defensive. Guess which one you are, from what you did against Voldemort?"

Harry thought back, not finding it all that difficult to recall - getting your mind invaded was a rather memorable sensation. He'd concentrated on emotions, so…

"One of the Emotional ones," he said.

Tom inclined his head, whether in acceptance, agreement or acknowledgement that he'd answered, he wasn't sure.

"Do you know which one?"

"Do you?" Harry asked.

Tom shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

"I wasn't in your mind at the time," he replied. Harry arched his brows.

"But you have a theory as to which one I would be," he persisted, certain of that.

"I always have theories," Tom returned, with a small smirk. "Now, answer the question."

Harry frowned, scouring his mind.

"What happens if I'm not sure…?" he questioned.

"Then my theory is proven correct," Tom said.

Harry folded his arms, curious despite his reluctance to let Tom in his head during these lessons, particularly now, when he knew Tom would shoot straight for what he wanted to know while he was at it, until Harry could accurately and consistently defend against that.

"Do tell."

"I think you use both - emotional defensive _and _emotional offensive," Tom said. "It's rare…but not unheard of, but it makes it more difficult than most for you to find your aptitude in the mind arts…which is why this whole initial process took so long."

"Is yours like that too?" Harry asked, on a hunch, knowing if Tom actually answered that he would have a better chance of being able to get past Tom's own barriers, if he wanted or needed to…which probably meant Tom wouldn't answer.

"In a manner of speaking," the Slytherin Heir said. "Different side of the spectrum though; I use both emotional and stoic, but all offensive."

Harry blinked. Okay…he did answer…Harry tried to clear the pleased shock before it could settle, lest it settle on his features for Tom's perusal. It seemed Tom picked up on it, anyway.

"Surprised I admitted that?" he questioned, with a knowing air, before it disappeared. "You're the one who said I should trust you more."

"I know," Harry replied, his throat suddenly dry. There was a pause. "So how do they work, then, the groups?"

"Stoic defensive relies on creating a wall around your mind, so to speak, with no emotion…a cleared mind and intent focus that reveals nothing. Case study - your professor Snape. One of the most difficult to pick up, but one of the strongest if used properly," Tom explained. "Stoic offensive again relies on not showing any emotion, and keeping a cool, cleared mind, but in this case you don't focus on defending your own mind, but lashing out at the intruding mind ."

"How?" Harry asked, leaning forwards.

"Varies for everyone - some may imagine spikes coming out in a mindscape, others a simple blast of mental energy to injure," Tom replied. Harry digested for a moment. "Abraxas uses that form," Tom added, offhandedly.

"Abraxas knows mind arts?"

"He's a Malfoy," Tom returned, as if that explained everything…which it kind of did.

"I didn't think you'd let anyone around you have the ability to block you out," Harry smirked.

"No one around me does. My Legilimency is extremely strong, and his mind is compliant to mine if I wish it."

"…the mark?" Harry felt sick.

Tom nodded, completely at ease. Another thing to look up, then.

"Does that work on me?"

"Betray me and find out," Tom said, with a pleasantness in his tone that was jarringly at war with the threat of his message, meeting his gaze for a moment. Harry held it evenly, before continuing.

"So, how does the emotional one work, then?"

"By using emotion, strong emotion, to either create a…mist…of feeling, or something similar, to lose the intruder in, to confuse them, to mislead them, so they never find your true mind."

"That's the defensive one?"

"Yes," Tom agreed. "The offensive uses emotions to attack the intruder, to bombard them with all your own pain and negative emotions, any 'repulsive' emotion."

Hermione would have loved all of this theory, and been at the books by now. Harry smiled slightly at the thought.

"And the rare ones?"

Tom's and his own? Tom studied him for a moment.

"Emotional and stoic means the fact that I will annihilate anyone unwelcome in my mind. Imagine an explosive, or a bomb…hard and 'stoic' on the outside, and if someone should break the surface, they re immediately torn into pieces by the emotions crushed inside the stoicism, or the explosive stuff inside the bomb. Those are what I throw at any mind who comes in contact with mine."

"But the intruder could go insane," Harry said, horrified. Tom smiled, coldly.

"That's the general point. They won't try again, either way."

Harry resisted the urge to shudder.

"And the defensive and offensive emotional?" he questioned.

"Up to you on the specifics," Tom said. "I can't tell you that, it's your mind...but from what I've gathered from the framework I've seen in your mind since using legitimacy on you post-Voldemort-" At Grimmauld. When he first came. "- you have the emotional barriers, to lose people in, the forming 'mist,' for want of a better term. Then, you also have an offensive side that, instead of just letting the intruder wonder around there for all time, will come out of the 'mist' to attack."

"If there's mist, then they wouldn't see it coming," Harry pointed out. Tom's eyes glittered.

"Just because you deny your cruel streak, doesn't mean you don't have one, especially in the face of efficiency. We both know that."

Harry looked away, uncomfortable, but completely intrigued at what his mind revealed.

"But this is your theory, isn't it?" he verified. "You don't know for sure."

"Not until we test it out - ready yourself - _legilimens!"_

* * *

A/N: I originally posted this chapter up to before the Occlumency lesson last night, then decided I wasn't happy with it, and took it down, for extension and something actually happening. So yeah, sorry about that. I hope you enjoy it J You guys prefer long to short anyway, don't you? Though they take ME longer to write…

Anyway. With my reward systems…any ideas for celebrating the oncoming chapter 100?And damn, I cannot believe you guys have stuck with me so far! Thank you!


	93. Chapter 92

Chapter 92:

Tom was silent, staring at him with an unreadable expression.

Of course, Tom had gone straight for the meeting with Dumbledore and all it entailed, and Harry had not been able to do much against it as the other wasn't exactly starting off on a beginner level for blocking intruding minds.

He held the gaze solidly; to move now, or avert his gaze, would be to fail.

"I'd have thought you would relish the opportunity to learn more about me," Tom stated after a while. Harry simply shrugged, and Tom's eyebrows raised slightly. "I'm looking for a verbal answer, sweetheart," he prompted, with a silky hint of danger in his tone.

"And I'm wondering why a verbal answer is necessary," he replied, keeping his voice calm, "when you already know my feelings and response to the question."

Tom prowled forwards a little, standing from his careless position on the sofa. Harry merely began to circle in turn, cautious to keep the Slytherin Heir at a distance until he could more clearly gauge his intent.

"Curious," Tom murmured, favouring him with a smirk. "Do you truly believe Dumbledore would have only one motive for showing you that memory - an attempt to poison your mind against me?"

"Is that not what he was attempting to do?" Harry questioned warily, suddenly feeling stupid and ill at ease. Had he misinterpreted the situation entirely?"

"Relax, Harry," Tom practically purred, "he was attempting that as well. You should have more confidence in your perceptive abilities. You're a Slytherin, after all."

"But you think there's more to his actions?"

"There's always more to anyone's actions outside of surface levels, and with Dumbledore especially," Tom replied.

"And with you?" Harry dared. Tom's lips curled, vibrantly, eyes glittering.

"And with me," he acknowledged, softly, studying him intently. "He's hunting for the Horcruxes, golden boy."

Harry only just managed to catch his automatic expression, keeping composed.

"In your orphanage?"

"In my past," Tom corrected, voice not as playful now, hardening against the topic and the Headmaster's intentions. "Or…my future, however you wish to look at it. You think I would harbour my _soul_ in something commonplace, without meaning? He's looking for those meanings, and those hiding places."

Harry came to a halt in his circling, a few steps away, and Tom stopped also.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, masking uncertainty for suspicion, though suspicion was present still.

"Because friends are supposed to share secrets," Tom offered; mockingly, Harry knew. His jaw tightened.

"Because you've always been an active follower of conventions and what you're _supposed_ to do," he said. Tom smirked, once more.

"Maybe I've changed."

"I doubt it," Harry scoffed, "you hate rules and limitations, and include the traditional standards of society amongst then, and that's to say nothing of your contempt for moral codes."

"How well you know me," Tom stated.

Harry folded his arms, waiting for an answer and explanation of his own.

Tom's lip twisted in a juxtaposition of amusement, threat, fondness and impatience.

"_Think_, Harry. You know the answer, and the all the facts and resources to reach it."

Harry thinned his lips, but found his mind racing anyway in a feverish search for answers.

Okay. So, Horcruxes. Why would Tom care for him to know Dumbledore was hunting Horcruxes? To convince him spy on the Headmaster?

Tom knew he would refuse to that, just as Dumbledore should know by now that he refused to spy on Tom for the light - he was grey, damn it, was that really such a hard concept to grasp?

Anyway. Tom. Dumbledore. Horcruxes.

Oh. Horcrux hunting.

"He's hunting Horcruxes…and I'm…one of them," Harry said, quietly. "...He's not going to kill me, Tom. But thanks for the warning."

"Of course he will," Tom snapped. "Don't be so naïve. He wants Voldemort dead, and that involves your demise-"

"Rather," Harry cut in, firmly, "he won't kill me _yet." _

That stopped Tom, who tilted his head back in appraisal.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because for some reason or other he seems to think I'm needed to kill Voldemort."

"Yes, darling," Tom sneered, "needed as a _sacrifice." _

"No, there's more. I can feel it," Harry said. Tom laughed, disbelievingly.

"You choose this time to get a sudden burst of benevolence regarding the goodness of people's intentions?" Tom closed the gap between them, gripping his shoulders tightly, breath hot on his ear. "**Don't be such a **_**fool."**_

**"**Yeah…er, why do you even care about the Horcruxes anyway?" Harry questioned with a dangerous lightness of tone. "Are you that convinced that you're him already?"

The grip tightened, crushing.

"I don't _want_ to be Voldemort, as he appears to be now, if that's what you're asking," Tom hissed, drawing back to see him face to face.

Harry blinked at the unexpected confession.

"Then why-"

"But, you know, we don't always get what we want," Tom continued, ferociously, "and in that case, I would rather not wilfully aid my own destruction in a younger version of myself. It would be a bit of a cosmic irony, wouldn't it?"

Harry studied the other, intently, for a moment.

"I thought you always got what you wanted," he said, smiling humourlessly. The pressure on his shoulder's decreased slightly, hands sliding back to their sides, though Tom didn't move back.

"We've been over this, Harry-"

"You could choose not become him. Easily," Harry interrupted. "The future's in your hands; you're free to do whatever you want, Tom. _No limitat-_"

A hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him.

"-Forget benevolence regarding other people's good intentions," Tom murmured viciously, eyeing him. "Your alarming eagerness to die is showing again."

Tom stared him down for a moment, before abruptly releasing it, and spinning on his heel.

"We should get back to the Common Room. Tomorrow we can do some actual Occlumency."  
He could feel the storms brewing in Tom's magic, but pushed regardless, unable to stop.

"-And you say I'm in denial?" Harry questioned furiously, striding after the Slytherin Heir. "You do not get to use me as a justification to pretend that you don't have a choice in this -"

The next second, Harry was staggering back with the force of Tom's backhand.

They both froze, breathing heavily. Tom's eyes widened with shock at the loss of his control.

Harry rose slowly to his feet, his mind whirling, his face stinging.

"Did I touch a nerve?" he challenged, voice barely above a whisper. He watched the other, who seemed to be wrestling with what to do. "Just cause you've given up, it doesn't mean I have," he finished softly, abruptly walking past Tom, not letting his footsteps falter or show signs of being affected.

"-Harry-" Tom began.

He slammed the door of the room of requirement shut behind him.

* * *

The next morning found him meeting Ron and Hermione in the library.

Both looked up with wide smiles when he first entered, before Hermione's expression melted to absolute horror as she dashed towards him.

"Harry! What happened to your face?" she demanded shrilly.

His face? His hand flinched up. Damn it. There hadn't been any bruises when he checked in the mirror or anything, they must have only just started showing. He hadn't expected…he quickly spelled a glamour, even as Ron stared at him, wide eyed.

"It's nothing," he said, quickly.

"-Harry," Hermione hissed, her voice lowering with a nervous dart of her eyes at Madame Pince, who was starting to perk up irritably at the noise emitting from their table. "What happened?"

"Riddle?" Ron demanded, angrily.

"It's _nothing_," Harry repeated. "Let's just do homework…"

"No," Ron said resolutely. "What happened?" Harry was silent for a moment.

"Progress…possibly," he admitted.

Neither Ron nor Hermione looked the slightest bit appeased.

"You have to tell someone!" Hermione urged, her fingers trailing gently to the hidden marks on his face.

Harry was suddenly glad they didn't know about the dislocated fingers, or any of the other things that occurred if he pushed the young Dark Lord too far. He winced.

"No, it's fine. It's-"

"It's not fine. He _hit _you-"

"-What makes you think it was Tom?" Harry questioned sullenly, moving to slam his book bag on the table.

"Because with you, it's always Riddle nowadays," Ron said bluntly. "I swear to Merlin, I'm gonna kill the psychotic bastarrd for this."

"_No_," Harry protested, firmly. "Leave it. Promise me you'll leave it, and won't say a word, you weren't even supposed to-"

"Supposed to find out?" Hermione's voice rose an octave in pitch. Harry looked away.

"Does he bloody hit you often?" Ron snarled. Harry shook his head.

"We were arguing-" he began to explain.

"That's not very reassuring considering how you seem to argue at least once a week," Hermione mumbled. Harry flicked his gaze back to them.

"He told me he didn't want to be Voldemort."

"Oh - Harry-" Hermione started helplessly.

"And he looked pretty surprised when he hit me," Harry continued, relentlessly. "I reckon he just lost his temper."

"Well," Ron snapped sarcastically, "that's alright then, isn't it? No worries if we have a body to bury next time he loses his temper."

"I touched a nerve."

"I'm seriously worried about how gleeful you sound," Ron said flatly. Harry sighed.

"Look, it's Slytherin-"

"And we're obviously too much of blunt, moronic Gryffindors to therefore understand?" Hermione questioned, delicately.

"No! I just - not moronic," he muttered.

Hermione and Ron stared at him in utter disbelief.

"Well, Harry, why don't you _try_ explaining, and let us be the judge of that," Hermione instructed, her voice shaking, clearly trying to keep a level head. "Maybe you could use some fresh eyes…with him you…kind of get wrapped up in the details. We might be able to clarify the big picture."

Harry stared at them, breathless.

There was so _much_ he hadn't told them. But…But…Maybe they could help. Hermione was certainly better at researching then him, and he didn't have a clue where to start with all the things he had to find answers to.

"Where do I start…" he smiled, shakily.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. I apologise for the slowness of my chapters, I should pick up in terms of speed again soon. :) I'm glad you're still enjoying the story. Feedback, is as always, much appreciated - I'm a review addict ;) 

PS: READ Eos's "Fighting Fate" I cannot stress the pure brilliance of it enough. And her explorations of characters, like Fred and George for example, works very accurately in conjunction with Fate's Favourite. She's kinda like the person who does the set for a play, but way more awesome! PRAISE HER!


	94. Chapter 93

Chapter 93:

He didn't tell them everything; there was too much to tell, and some of it he just knew they wouldn't handle…like the specifics of power plays and dislocated fingers…but he did fill them in a little bit.

Specifically; Dumbledore and the Horcruxes.

They had reacted with absolute horror and disgust, which while painful was - gratifying. It blessedly confirmed that they were not a Good Thing, and comforted him as it offered a balance to Tom's opinion that Horcruxes were brilliant and he really shouldn't have a problem with it.

Now, he felt like his concerns were actually valid, and that he wasn't just going insane fearing it.

He also told them why it had eventually caused him to lock himself up in Grimmauld Place…and the effects he thought it had on Ginny.

"That's-that's impossible," Ron shook his head, determinedly. "You're not going to hurt us. You wouldn't. You'd never hurt your friends."

"I wouldn't," Harry said quietly, "but Tom would…the Horcrux would. Ginny's…Ginny could already be susceptible to it…she's let one of them in before, got emotionally attached and dependent…"

"No-" Ron said stubbornly, "that can't happen, can it Hermione?"Hermione hesitated.

"Harry did save her," she said, cautiously, timidly. "A hero crush, a dependency and expectation that Harry will always protect her wouldn't be an uncommon reaction…Harry's like a modern day Prince to any girl. He's a hero, rich and famous and-"

"He is here,." Harry reminded under his breath.

"-but Harry doesn't even fancy girls!" Ron exclaimed.

"-_Excuse me?"_ he demanded, loudly. They both turned to stare at him, and Ron's face went red as his mind caught up with what he'd just said. "I'm not gay! For crying out loud," Harry snapped.

Ron held out a placating hands.

"Okay! I mean it's fine if you are, but…"

"Even if you are, it wouldn't stop her feeling that way," Hermione said, with a briskness that made it clear she was trying to edge over the potential pot hole in the conversation.

"I'm not!" Harry repeated, indignantly, looking at her too. "Why does no one believe me?"

"Because of the way you act with Riddle," Ron mumbled. "No offence, but er, straight guys don't really touch each other so much. Or call each other couple nicknames like 'sweetheart' or 'darling'"

"But," Hermione interrupted hastily, catching his darkening, infuriated expression, "we believe you if you say you're not, don't we? Ron?"

"Right, yeah, course we do, mate," Ron said brightly. He was sure they bloody well did.

"Well, good. Cause I'm gonna kill whoever started that rumour," he said. There was an awkward silence. Hermione coughed.

"The point is…it is possible that _It_ is what's causing Ginny to act so…out of character."

Ron swallowed, hard, Harry really hoped he wasn't going to start yelling or refuse to Harry anywhere near him.

"So, what can we do to fix it, then?" he asked.

* * *

Harry and Tom had been avoiding each other all day.

The art of one avoiding the other wasn't totally unusual, but that they were doing it at the same time was rarer. Whispers were already racing across the Slytherin table like wildfire when Harry spent meal times that day with the Gryffindors rather than the in his customary seat next to Tom.

What was even more unusual, and perhaps unheard of in history of the 'Slytherin Duo' was that they didn't seem to be doing it in the throws of an argument.

There was no subtle jabs or jibes, Tom didn't deliberately signal for Lestrange to take Harry's seat, instead leaving it empty and _glaring _at Cygnus when he shifted as if to try and take it.

It was…bizarre.

Zevi could only wonder what on earth had happened, and mentally bemoan that he missed witnessing it.

The other thing indicative that this wasn't like any argument they had before was that they still looked at each other - glancing over at the other's table every so often, yet always missing each other. Normally, if they were avoiding each other, they made a huge effort to NOT show any indication of interest, but now…it was bizarre.

He wasn't sure if he liked it or not, it broke the pattern, and that meant it was back to the beginning with the rest of the world scrambling to keep up and predict what was acceptable and how things were going to go.

He noted the Headmaster seemed gleeful at the seeming estrangement. It was a fascinating development, and whatever the cause was he could guess the outcome - something was going to give or shift in their dynamic, whether to carve the way for something deeper (and was that even possible?) or to split a chasm between them too wide to be breached.

Zevi sucked in a shaky breath, staring down at his braised beef in silence.

Watching. Always watching. And he knew the rest were too.

* * *

Harry looked up as the door to the Room of Requirement opened, and Tom entered. The Slytherin Heir stopped at the sight of him, staring with an unreadable expression.

"Harry," he greeted, quietly.

"Tom."

All of a sudden he felt nervous. Tom had physically lashed out at him last night, and it had _hurt._ He had bruises marring his skin below a Glamour that he knew had already caught the young Dark Lord's notice.

The dreams with Voldemort churned sickeningly into his head - the hours of torture by Tom's face. His fingers curled inwards, nails digging into the palms of his hand.

"I didn't expect you to come," Tom said.

Harry shrugged, uncomfortably, gaze flicking up again, riveted in deciphering any and all expressions that managed to find their way on the other's features.

"You punching me in the face doesn't really stop me from needing an Occlumency Teacher," he replied, carefully. Tom looked even paler than normal, and, almost hesitantly, began approaching him again.

Harry's muscles stiffened despite himself, and he knew Tom caught it by the too-fast flicker on his face.

"You're wearing a Glamour," Tom stated, voice somehow even softer than before. Harry flicked his wand wordlessly, revealing the bruises.

Tom's breath caught in his throat, jarred, and Harry felt a sick sense of triumph to combat his unease.

Tom was next to him a second, causing him to flinch back before he was aware of it, and Tom to freeze on the spot, before continuing his movements regardless, albeit slowly enough that Harry did have the option of preventing them.

Fingers tilted his head to the side, with only the barest of pressures and little force. Harry swallowed thickly.

"People would probably talk if I wandered around looking like this," he said, half in explanation, and half to fill the clogging silence.

Tom didn't respond to that, the pad of his thumb tracing across the mottled skin, gently, but it caused him to wince. The next moment Tom's wand was in his hand, and Harry had jerked his head out of the not particularly firm grip.

The Slytherin Heir hovered again in his movements, eyes dark.

"I was just going to heal it," he said.

"I know," Harry replied, and that caused Tom's gaze to shift away from the bruises to meet his gaze once more.

There was a supernova trapped in those violet eyes, exploding with emotions too fast and too intense for Harry to be able to feel comfortable studying them. Tom's wand lowered slightly, and Harry found the confusion in the movement easy enough to pick upon.

"Why won't you heal it?" Tom asked, tightly now. "It must be…painful. I thought you said you weren't a masochist."

"What's it to you if it painful to me or not? Is it bothering you?" he challenged.

"Yes," Tom admitted, without hesitation, and that caused Harry to start, with a solid lump in his throat. He smiled, without warmth, but not coldly either.

"Probably shouldn't have done it then," he said. "Are we going to do some _actual Occlumency_ or not?"

"I'm offering to heal it now," Tom said, sounding frustrated, angry even, ignoring the latter part of his statement completely. "Why won't you let me?"

Harry stood from the sofa, putting them on a more equal height level, and pacing, a plan only half formed in his earlier 'gleefulness' of having 'touched a nerve' solidifying with every step.

Tom's eyes didn't leave him for an instant.

After a moment, he turned to face the Slytherin Heir again.

"I suppose that would make you feel better-"

"-It would," Tom agreed, quickly, as if he thought Harry was yielding to help, but Harry didn't step closer.

"-after all, if you can't see it you can probably just forget you ever lost control. I can see why that would make you feel better." Tom's eyes cut through to his bone, blazing.

"Harry-" he began.

"-Just because you erase a mistake, Tom, just because it's not visible or obvious, it doesn't mean you never made it. Just because you heal a bruise doesn't mean it never hurt."

There was a point to this, somewhere, and Harry softened his tone. He flicked his hair aside to reveal the lightning bolt scar.

"Just because you have _good intentions_ that doesn't mean the scars you carve aren't permanent."

Tom stared at him, knowing full well that 'good intentions' referred to his claim that he would become Voldemort to make sure _this_ all happened, that Harry existed.

"It's not that simple," he said.

"Why not?" Harry asked. Tom's jaw tightened, the supernova in his eyes turned black hole, drawing him until he was unable to look away.

"Because the only reason I would not be Voldemort as he is now, is the reason I would be," Tom replied quietly. Harry frowned.

"…I don't understand," he murmured.

Tom laughed, wildly, suddenly striding towards him, causing Harry to immediately start backing up in wariness, but Tom didn't hesitate this time, catching hold of his shoulders, just like yesterday, leaning forwards slightly so they're faces were level.

"Because," Tom explained, voice dangerous and yet not simultaneously. "**The only person who can make me think that being Tom is worth more than being Voldemort is you."**

Harry's eyes widened.

"**T**-"

"-**I'm better around you**," Tom hissed.** "Only around you; sometimes I despise you for it and want to drive a knife through your stomach just to get rid of it and to hurt you." **Harry swallowed as Tom's eyes flicked to the bruises and back, even as he continued, voice paradoxically softer to his words.** "You…balance out my personality. I know you want me to let you cease existing and not become Voldemort…but…you're the only person I'm not already Voldemort to. Slight contradiction if you're not around for the next fifty years to stop me then, isn't it? Which, by the very nature of the problem, you can't be." **

Harry's mouth felt dry.

"Whatever this is, Harry, it's not a _simple _choice_." _

The hands released his shoulders.

"So, what, you're just going to give up, lie down and accept your _fate_?" Harry demanded incredulously. "You're not going to even try and find another option?"

"I'm not going to waste the last year of true freedom I have left on a wild goose chase of knowledge, no," Tom said flatly. Harry's brows arched.

"You don't think there's a way to stop you becoming Voldemort?"

"I'm sure there are plenty of ways to stop me becoming Voldemort," Tom said evenly. "The problem is all of those involve this future and you going up in a puff of non-existence, and are therefore inadequate to my criteria."

"Well, I'm not giving up," Harry snapped, folding his arms. Tom inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"You never do."

There was a moment of silence, intense, and Harry broke it with a smirk.

"Of course not, that would involve agreeing with you about something..."

"Brat."

* * *

Later that night, much later, middle of the night and way past curfew later, Harry snuck up to Headmaster's office.

He didn't care if he woke Dumbledore up; this time was one of the only times he could conceivably visit now without raising questions that he didn't want to answer.

He was surprised to see the old man was still up and awake, and Dumbledore looked just as surprised to see him, before the expression was promptly schooled.

Fawkes flew over to his shoulder, chirping encouragingly into his ear as he entered further into the Headmaster's office, standing before the large, cluttered desk.

"Harry…" Dumbledore greeted, composedly enough, about to speak further when Harry cut in.

"I've got a deal for you, and I think it would be to the best of both of our interests if you accepted it."

* * *

A/N: So, not particularly long, but you know, stuff actually happens! Isn't that amazing? :O

Please review this chapter, I'm really nervous as to whether I got Tom and Harry right in this one...eek, cause it was, in my opinion, quite a big chapter for them.

By the way, you know the "are you human" login verification thingies...do any of you ever get the urge to just type "No, I'm actually a time lord, idiot." Or is that just me?

Thanks for the reviews! Mucho appreciation. Don't know when the next update will be, but not before at least Wednesday unless I get a sudden burst of free time.


	95. Chapter 94

A lot of you guys have expressed worries that Tom is too dominant, and that they're not equal enough, and I'll admit to a certain extent that is true and the two (ooh, rhyme) are working on it…but here's a question for you: To name just a few, do you not count the fact that Tom allows Harry to attempt equality, or to act disrespectful or fight back as a concession in itself? Voldemort considers the rights of his Death Eaters to be subject to his own approval, or so Canon suggests. Just cause Tom's concessions may not be highlighted, doesn't mean he doesn't give them - after all, can any of you imagine Tom giving obvious concessions anyway?

* * *

Chapter 94:

Dumbledore studied him for a moment, head tilted back, before gesturing that he should go on. Harry took a deep breath to steel himself, before obliging.

"I have the rest of the year to stop Tom from becoming Voldemort; preferably without deleting this time line, and I want you to help me - to the very best of your ability. I do not have your experience, nor your skill in magic, nor access to rare books, so your unimpeded assistance would be very much appreciated, and you certainly will not get in my way."

"And the deal aspect of this?" Dumbledore questioned, calmly, blue eyes glinting above a steeple of interlaced fingers. "What do you intend to offer me in return for my help?"

"If I fail, if the clock hits zero and Voldemort is still here, as he is now…I will willingly and without question submit myself to fulfilling your plan to destroy him. You won't get any fight out of me. I will perform whatever you ask of me." He eyed the Headmaster, trying to gauge how this was being taken. "We both want him gone. We should naturally be on the same side."

Dumbledore studied him for a moment longer, in total silence.

"I think it would be best if you explained exactly what the situation is," he instructed. Harry arched a brow.

"Do we have a deal or not?" he asked, holding out a hand, demandingly, his own eyes glittering.

Dumbledore could take lesson in his own secret medicine. The Headmaster's lips pursed.

"What level of binding are you planning - oath, vow?"

"Unbreakable," Harry said flatly.

A flicker of shock appeared on the other's features, before growing calculating, a hand extended out to go through the motions.

"Then I believe we need a bonder, my boy."

* * *

Harry rubbed his eyes, feeling exhausted from his late night excursion.

He dropped into his customary seat next to Tom, wondering if Alphard was aware that he'd heaved a visible breath of relief.

The Glamour was firmly in place once more, the bruises not likely to fade for at least a few days. He felt Tom's eyes flick to his cheek, then up to his eyes, assessing, before back to his own plate - toast, as usual.

He could just feel the other Slytherin's practically dying of curiosity about yesterday's events. He smiled in greeting, and said good morning to Pansy as she swept by, causing the girl to smile shyly back.

Tom's eyes narrowed on her for a moment, before he disregarded Parkinson, or seemed to. Breakfast continued without much kerfuffle, though he did notice that Tom's gaze kept flicking to his face…and to the Glamour.

He hoped the other was feeling really bothered by it, vindictive as that was.

"Harry Potter?" a voice asked, light and clear.

Harry blinked, before turning around on his seat. The hall grew marginally subdued as everyone nearby stared at the dirty blonde girl, with - were those _radishes?_ - swinging from her ears.

"Er, yeah, um-" Harry didn't get any further, his head whipping to a side as she slapped him across the cheek.

The surrounding Slytherins all had their wands out in an instant, but Harry just stared, and the girl smiled brightly at him, an apology tucking her mouth.

"That was from Fate," she said dreamily. "And this is from Luck."

Without a second's warning, her lips were briefly, gently, pressing onto his own. They tasted of apples. Then the kiss was gone, and she promptly walked a way back to the…Ravenclaw table?

Without another word.

Or any explanation.

Absently, he pushed Tom's wand down, knowing the other's would follow suit with their leader, his hand tracing his lip and cheek.

He'd met her before…he knew. But where? Lena? Lucy? LUNA! Was her name Luna? Loony? Loony Luna? He tilted his head.

The carriages. He'd met her on the carriages. He blinked.

Fate and Luck?

Without another word, he began to rise from his seat, only for Tom to yank him back down, staring at him.

"You're not going after her - she's psychotic," the Slytherin Heir stated. Harry stared after her, thoughtfully.

"So are you," he reminded, still distracted.

"It was a figure of speech," Tom snapped. "She's crazy…Fate and Luck? Really? Honestly, Golden Boy, I thought higher of you."

"Yeah…flattered," Harry replied vaguely, waving a hand, before turning to look at Draco, sitting off away from Tom, but next to Abraxas. "Do you know who she is?"

Draco frowned, glancing at Tom.

"Luna Lovegood," he said finally. "She's a complete freak. Her father runs some crackpot rag paper called 'The Quibbler.'"

"She's not in our year…?"

"Does it matter?" Abraxas questioned, a careful lilt to his tone. "She's hardly worth your time."

"Come on, she slapped you, she's a bloody nut job," Alphard added.

"She kissed me..."

"Well, now I know what catches _your_ attention," Tom muttered darkly. "Next time, I'll just kiss you too, shall I?"

Harry's head snapped a round again, away from their lingering perusal of the Ravenclaw table.

"What d'you just say?"

"He answers," Tom deadpanned. Harry scowled.

"Shut up…I just…" he shook his head, irritated, glancing at the Luna Lovegood once more.

A slap from Fate and a kiss from Luck?

He had to talk to her.

* * *

Was Harry really that oblivious?

His Lord looked utterly furious with the attention he was playing the Lovegood girl…although…not so much that he was paying attention to _her,_ but that Harry was kind of ignoring him to do it.

Alphard's stomach twisted with anxiety.

Sure, Harry had turned back and continued conversation NOW, but, damn - was Harry really that oblivious? Truly?

It was probably more likely that the half Gryffindor was exercising his Lion side and doing it on purpose because he knew the effect he was having…why else would he have been staring at that random girl so…thoughtfully?

And what was that about anyway? A slap from Fate and a kiss from Luck?

Ridiculous.

* * *

Harry sat with Ron and Hermione in Charms; he hadn't had the opportunity to track down…Luna, yet. Ron had smirked at him when he came over, and Fred and George had dived in when they saw him at lunch, nudging his sides and winking and being suggestive. Hermione had looked at him…worriedly?

"Hey," he greeted, dropping into a seat.

"Did you _get_ the homework?" Ron demanded immediately, looking put out. "Hermione did, of course, but I don't have a clue what to write about why it's so difficult to create charms that are portable - people do it on stuff like trunks that can be made to shrink, be light and grow all the time - it can't be _that_ hard!"

"Oh honestly, Ronald," Hermione huffed. "I told you; charms are tied to certain properties, and being portable changes the properties and-"

"But that doesn't make any sense!" Ron groaned. "Harry, do you get it?"

"Um," Harry said.

Normally, before Tom, he would have lied and said "no" even if he meant yes. Then Tom practically freaked and was hell to be around when he 'dumbed himself down.'

But….no. Ron looked miserable already.

"Didn't have a clue," he said. "Tom helped me out."

He figured they weren't liable to ask and check, the avoided the Slytherin Heir if they could.

"He helps you with your homework?"

Harry couldn't decide if Hermione sounded pleased, or completely put out and little sad or resentful.

He shrugged.

"'Help' mainly consists of him insulting me whenever I do it wrong," he said dryly. "And stealing it to write scathing comments and corrections across it in blazing red ink."

It was true, from the few…one…time he'd actually got Tom to give him a hand, a while back.

Tom was a brutal teacher when he didn't bother being moderate about it, though Harry should have expected that considering Tom had taught him Dark Arts by using them on him so he had to learn all the counters to avoid being permanently mutilated, and then after a while he just started learning the spells themselves to keep up with the other and not get mutilated in the first place.

Then, as he'd improved, they'd settled into a rather…challenging but equal….duelling practice.

Tom beat him on Dark Arts alone, easily, but Harry found his duelling got extremely good when he mixed Dark and Light spells into his style simultaneously.

Tom wasn't that good with actual 'light' spells, in fact, he seemed almost incapable of casting them.

"That's awful!" Hermione seemed outraged. Just as well he'd only ever skimmed over how he learned to duel and heal so well. He shrugged again.

"He finds it frustrating when us mere mortals can't keep up with him. I'd love to see you to go up against each other, Hermione," he smirked. "You're both geniuses."

"I couldn't beat him," Hermione said quietly, suddenly subdued.

Ron frowned, and Harry looked at her sharply.

"Hey, why the defeated tone?" Ron questioned, with an almost uncharacteristic gentleness. "You're brilliant Hermione! - Remember Lupin, brightest witch of your age!"

Hermione smiled shakily.

"Yeah, but he's brilliant too. And he…I…he knows spells I haven't even heard of! I talked to him in Grimmauld you know, and felt completely stupid with all this stuff and theories he was coming out with."

Harry paused, before a smirk tugged at his lips.

"You know," he began, "Tom's perfectly aware I think you're utterly brilliant…he could have just started on that stuff, which if it's Dark you would have no reason to know, because he viewed you as a threat. He was probably trying to judge the depth of your intelligence...did you reply to his questions?" Harry asked, patiently.

"Yes," Hermione said, tugging a hand through her hair, "but I sounded completely lame and bluffing it, most likely."

"Most people would stare at him blankly, with their mind on freeze, unable to even reply."

"Oh…" Hermione said.

Harry smiled, dryly.

"Take him up on a conversation about light magic sometime. He's scarily smart, but not omniscient."

* * *

Tom was already in the Room of Requirement when he entered for Occlumency.

"Got a question before we start," he said, without preamble.

"It better not be about the blonde girl,."

"It's not about Luna…do you even know anything about her? I don't, and it's _my_ time period!"

"Just ask the question already," Tom instructed, sounding bored. Harry rolled his eyes.

"My someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, anyway, it's the 31st tomorrow, and I'm a bad friend who hasn't got you a birthday present yet, but that's cause you're impossible to buy for, and you seemed more inclined to want a favour anyway…? So, what do you want?"

Tom's head tilted, and he actually looked vaguely interested this time.

It was an improvement. Tom staring at him with utter boredom and disinterest when he talked was an infuriating feeling.

"I presume you'll flat out refuse if I say I want you to accept that I'll turn into Voldemort?"

"You presume correctly," Harry said, a little tightly. "Pick something else."

"What, until I find something you want to give?"

"No, until it's something that you actually genuinely _want_," Harry said.

Tom regarded him sharply.

"And what makes you think I don't want you to accept I'll turn into Voldemort?"

"The fact you let it drop so easily," Harry stated calmly. Tom's jaw tightened.

"Nonetheless, you should accept that anyway," he said quietly.

Harry shook his head, walking over and dropping onto his sofa.

"And give up my title as the master of Denial? Ha, I'll pass," he said flippantly.

Tom stared at him for a moment, before smirking.

"You're talking a lot with your pet lions again, I note?"

"Yes," Harry agreed, feeling a little warily.

"They're your friends? You trust them?"

"With my life," Harry said, chin jutting up a bit. Tom's smirk broadened.

"Then show them the mark on your arm. Hell, stop covering it."

Harry took a deep breath.

Damn it.

"You're calling that in as your birthday present?"

"Yes….or should I 'pick something else'?" Tom challenged.

Harry sighed. He should back down from that. He didn't want to do this. But. But…

"So long as you don't expect me to wear t-shirts althrough winter. It's bloody cold."

* * *

A/N: So, a day early…but your reviews thrilled me so much. Just in case you want to know, and a lot of you seem to, yes I can envision a happy ending to this, if that's the way I'm choosing to go (spoilers, I might be, I might not.) Any of you lot figured out my potential solution? ;)

Not sure if I liked the chapter or not though.


	96. Chapter 95

Chapter 95:

Harry rolled his sleeves up deliberately when he got dressed, eyeing the disguised marks, so much like the remnant of nails cutting into his skin in tiny, crimson, perfectly formed crescent moons, with a slight wariness.

He hoped Tom liked his "birthday present," though he admittedly couldn't see the relevance and reasoning behind this particular request.

He tried to think if anything had changed that would cause Tom to suddenly want him to display his arm, and instead couldn't help but feel terrified at the thought that Tom would randomly decide to morph the awkward but explainable 'nail marks' into the serpent when he got bored…which would leave Harry desperately trying to come up with some argument that proved it wasn't a Dark mark or anything like a Dark Mark, when it clearly was.

He wished Tom would just tell him the specifics of what the could use the snake for; Harry knew more about the traditional skull-and-viper model than he did about this one! It was ridiculous…but utterly Tom all over.

Salazar. He resisted the urge to twitch his shirt sleeves down over his arms again, instead trying to look casual, his heart pounding as he entered the Great Hall and sat down in his customary spot.

He regarded the now…how old was Tom? With all the time travelling crap? Was he even technically a year older today?

Damn, it was too early in the morning to think about.

Alphard was babbling at top speed to the Slytherin Heir, something about a-party-tonight-in-the-common-room-because-it's-your-birthday-and-new-years-eve-and-there-would-be-fireworks-and-you'll-get-your-present-then-and-you're-going-to-love-it, while Lestrange looked mutinous at not finding time to speak himself.

Tom raised a brow at the Black Heir, vaguely disdainful.

"I didn't understand a word of that," he said, though not particularly cruelly.

Alphard sighed, but didn't look to bothered, knowing Tom could have phrased that in a far more withering manner if it truly irritated him, still gesticulating excitedly in his hands while he starting over. Harry resisted the urge to groan into his cup.

After a moment, Tom's head came round to face him, flicking down to his bare arms almost immediately, before the barest smirk touched his lips in approval.

Harry folded his arms, feeling uncomfortable and entirely without barriers - which was absurd and irrational, he knew!

"Happy Birthday," he said instead, and the question slipped out before he could help it. "Uh…how old are you now?"

The other Slytherins stared at him, appalled by his asking.

"That's not a very polite question," Tom said, looking amused.

"To ask old women," Harry rebutted, defensively. "It's the time travel! I don't even know how old I am - I stopped doing maths in primary school."

"You don't know how old you are?" Abraxas drawled, sounding entertained. Harry scowled.

"You know what, never mind, it's way too early and-"

"I'm sixteen," Tom cut in, quietly, that smirk still in place. "In our time I would be seventeen when the date comes around, as it is, it's still a couple of months. You're sixteen, though you would be fifteen without the time travel." Harry blinked.

"Isn't seventeen a big birthday in the Wizarding world?"

"Yes, though you really should know that," Lestrange sneered. Harry ignored it, studying Tom thoughtfully, about to speak when the mail zoomed in.

A large black hawk swooped over to their table, depositing an elegantly wrapped cylinder in front of Tom. Voldemort's owl.

Harry shifted back slightly. Dumbledore stood abruptly at the head table, looking about to come over, before his fingers white-knuckled and he sank slowly back into his chair, gaze fixed on Tom.

Harry's head snapped to what he presumed was a "gift." Tom glanced sideways at him, considering, while the other Slytherin's craned their necks to see.

"Who's it from?" Abraxas questioned, "if you don't mind my asking?"

"The Dark Lord, if I'm not mistaken," Tom said.

"Well, you never are mistaken," Lestrange said immediately. Harry snorted, feeling uneasy.

"I'll be at the Gryffindor table," he said softly, moving to stand, only for Tom to tug him down again with a frown, grip wrapped around the mark, which buzzed under the Slytherin Heir's touch, before he let go again, turning to the present.

Tom undid the wrapping paper with ease, letting it slide down. There was a copy of the daily prophet. The hall had suddenly gone subdued. Harry leant over to read.

Ex Auror Dead - Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody found slaughtered in his home. 

On the page there was a Dark Mark stamped against the title, and that spidery crawl. _Happy Birthday, child. _

Harry's throat went tight, his eyes widening, an odd emptiness in his stomach...and then Tom's fist slammed down onto the table, causing Harry's gaze to snap to him, body tense.

Tom looked absolutely furious. And Harry wasn't sure why…Tom had no love lost for the grizzled Auror, hell, they'd argued last time they met…

"**How **_**dare**_** he**," Tom hissed, under his breath, seemingly livid, before he spun on Harry. "Did you see this happening?"

"No…really!" he added, hastily, when Tom continue stare at him with a scarily emotionless expression. "I would have tried to stop it…why are you acting like this, you don't…didn't even like Moody?" he questioned, tentatively, knowing the other Slytherins wouldn't so much as breathe to loudly right now, let alone speak.

"Because he's goading me," Tom muttered darkly. Harry arched his brows, lost.

"You're going to have translate how your mind works for me," he prompted. Tom's jaw tightened, and he abruptly rose and walked out the hall. Harry felt his left arm tug, and stood too, only to pause at the shocked stares the other Slytherins were giving his arm.

"Did your arm just have a snake on it?" Draco asked, croakily.

Hell.

Harry gritted his teeth and walked out after the Slytherin Heir, not replying, feeling self-conscious.

He followed the vague tugging sensation to a nearby empty classroom and ducked in, shutting the door behind him.

Tom was pacing like a trapped tiger, with a violent energy that sent shudders down Harry's spine, and he stayed silent, waiting. Tom turned to him after a while, eyes dark.

"If he can get into the house of a notoriously paranoid and talented Auror," Tom proposed, tightly, "how difficult do you think he is suggesting it is for him to get at…other things of mine?"

"How was Moody yours?" Harry asked nonplussed, before pausing, feeling exhausted. "Is this you talking in terms of humans as your toys and possessions again?" he checked.

Tom gave him a flat look. Right. Yeah. Of course it was.

"So, basically, just to clarify, you're annoyed that Voldemort killed Moody because he was _yours_ to bicker with?"

"It was a power play, just leave it at golden boy," Tom said after a moment, suddenly seeming noticeably calmer, pupils merely feverish with a dance of plans.

Harry followed the gaze, glancing down at his arm, to where Tom was looking. He folded his arms across his chest again.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked, carefully. Real Birthday or not, Tom shouldn't have to deal with this crap today.

"Don't wander off…"

* * *

As the day progressed, Tom seemed noticeably calmer, at least on the surface, his cold analysis cutting to action after initial…violent…reactions had eased.

Alphard was still babbling about the party in the Common Room, and everyone seemed to be getting a bit excited for it.

Harry caught sight of Luna a few times, but never got the opportunity to go after her…and it would have been a bit unfair to ditch Tom on his birthday.

After dinner, as he was heading towards the Slytherin Common, Hermione and Ron caught up with him.

"Harry, mate," Ron said excitedly, "you coming up Gryffindor later? - Fred and George are going to set off some fireworks when the clock hits twelve for the New Year, it's gonna be awesome, they made them themselves. Don't know where they got the money, but it's brilliant."

"Actually-" Harry began.

"He's busy. Party at Slytherin," Abraxas said brightly. Too brightly. Harry rolled his eyes.

Weasleys and Malfoys; honestly, some things never changed.

"Oh," Hermione bit his lip. "Okay, but you'll come visit for a bit? I mean, if you're with the Slytherins all - _is that a tattoo?_"

Harry's gaze shot to his arm, and then he resisted the urge to glance immediately at Tom. The snake hissed at Hermione, who looked startled, and then _she_ instantly looked at Tom.

No one said she wasn't intelligent, and a snake kind of indicated to Tom, so it didn't require that much intelligence in the first place.

Her breath hitched, her lips trembled, before she looked back at Harry, tears welling in her eyes.

He hated Birthdays.

"It's a long story," he muttered.

Tom rested an arm on his shoulder, and this time Harry did shoot him an annoyed look, birthday or not. Tom simply smirked at him.

"Do you like it? I think it suits him," the Young Dark Lord drawled.

Ron was turning red.

"Is that what I think it is?" his best friend demanded. Harry stiffened.

"That would depend on what you-"

"-A Dark Mark, Harry? Since when? All this time - you've -"

"Oh relax ginger," Tom sneered. "Harry's not on the Dark side…yet. I'm working on it."

"Well you can bloody well work on someone else then," Ron snarled, grabbing Harry by the arm as if to pull him away.

The next second, Ron's hand shot back as if scalded, and he clutched his fingers protectively to his chest, making an odd pained noise in his throat. His skin was singed.

The calm that had been masking and layering over the danger, the psychopathic tendency to lash out at the smallest motivation if Tom didn't feel like controlling the urge, was shattered in an instant...and he did not want his friends around that.

He stepped between the two, arms spread to avoid any attempts to fire.

"Stop it," he snapped. "I don't want my year to end on a bad note. Ron…I'm not on the Dark side. I will never be on the Dark side, he's just baiting you, ignore it. Tom, just…no. Hermione, sorry, but I'll see the two of you tomorrow, I promise. I just-" he tugged a hand through his hair, feelings stressed out and his skin was prickling with discomfort.

Ron stared at him, and for a moment, Harry thought he was just going to punch, but then the red head just turned and walked away, shoulders slumped.

"Happy f***ing new year Harry."

* * *

Harry stood in the corner of the room, shadowed, watching while the Slytherins offered present after present to the young Dark Lord.

Lestrange was clearly looking for a private moment to give Tom the family ring. Harry got the vindictive wish that the private moment would come when Lestrange was wasted, so then Harry could see if he got down on one knee in addled intoxication.

He cradled a firewhiskey, wondering what the Gryffindors were doing. It was about half an hour to midnight, to New Year, and he felt like a pretty terrible person.

The solution to that probably didn't lie at the bottom of the bottle, but he was having fun trying.

After a while, the crowd dispersed into smaller groups, and Harry found the bottle snatched out of his hands. Tom smiled at him, completely friendly, bad mood disappeared.

"Easy pretty boy, you're an appalling drunk. You cried on me last time."

Harry sighed.

"Pretty boy? That's a new one," he said. Tom's head tilted.

"You're upset…you do realise you agreed to revealing the mark? I mean," Tom clapped a hand on his shoulder, laughing slightly, "to be honest I did you a favour, darling. Now you can find out if they're actually good friends or not. If they don't stick around then they can't be worth it, can they?"

"I know I agreed to it," Harry said. "That's why I'm not lashing out at you. And because it's your birthday. I was just kinda hoping you'd be less of a bastard about the whole thing. Stupid really."

"I'm always a bastard Harry," Tom said, and by the lack of nickname, Harry assumed he'd made an effort to sober up a bit for the conversation. "It's my new years resolution," Tom added confidingly.

Harry arched a brow, feeling a smile tug at his weary lips, despite himself.

"What, to be a bastard?"

"No," Tom frowned. "To stop being one to you. _So_ much fun though."

"That would be the sadistic tendencies, I imagine."

"And the possessive ones," Tom muttered.

Harry's eyes widened.

"How many drinks have you had?"

"Too many. Far too many, my dear. I hate this time of year… and alcohol lowers my inhibitions the more I drink. That's interesting. Stop me from doing something stupid and don't bring this conversation up in the morning or I will decapitate you."

"Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you," Harry sighed, again.

"So do most people," Tom shrugged. "They think you're too good and nice for someone like me. It's probably true."

Harry looked away.

"You're nice enough yourself, when you want to be, when you _choose_-"

"-Ah, ah," Tom half sang, with a warning lilt, pressing a hand over his mouth. "I don't like that conversation when I'm stone cold sober, don't start it now, hero."

There was a moment of silence, and Tom's hand dropped, but the eyes were surveying him more sharply now. It was a few minutes until midnight.

Tom offered him the firewhiskey bottle once more, concilliatory.

"I'll help you talk to your friends tomorrow, if you want," he said softly. "Civilly_._"

Harry took the offered drink, with a measure of wariness, taking a swig, knowing an attempted olive branch when he saw one.

A minute to go.

"Happy Birthday," he said, in response.

Tom clinked their glasses together, thoughtfully.

"Here's to good year," Tom returned.

Harry laughed, mirthlessly, but without bitterness also.

"Yeah, I'll drink to that."

* * *

Lestrange watched, jealously twisting in his gut, as Tom and Potter stood close together, in a darkened corner of the room, almost touching, chinking their individual beverages together. Leaning even further towards each other, gravitating as if each held their centre of gravity in the other.

It was sickening.

It should have been him over there, sharing those _looks_, focus of that alluring attention.

Not…not Evans. Stupid commoner.

Around him, he could hear the other Slytherin's yelling out the final ten seconds.

He pressed a hand against the ring in his pocket as the new Year began, the other's cheering around them, so irresponsible.

His lord pulled Potter closer for a moment, as if there was much space between them to close, an arm wrapped around his shoulders as they both drained the rest of their glasses, laughing. Tom pressed his lips near Pottter's ear, saying something.

He raised his glass silently, in toast, eyes gleaming with excitement…

And watched as Potter abruptly dropped unconscious to the floor.

_Happy New Year, love. _

* * *

A/N: So this chapter was a bitch to write. Literally, horrible. L I apologise. But you know…at least it's Friday? Thanks so much for the amazing reviews, I feel like I don't deserve them in light of this update.

PS: I apologise if my ages were wrong, feel free to correct me.

PPS: Lord Toewart, tell your mum that her titles are awesome! Haha, if I do a sequel, I'd definitely consider them. Tomorrow's Triumph is my favourite!


	97. Chapter 96

Chapter 96:

Zevi's head spun round, immediately, at the utterly dangerous, deadly aura that descended on the room, transforming his breath to dragon's smoke in its chill.

His eyes widened before he could help himself, any words of celebration that had been on his tongue catching somewhere in his chest.

Harry.

Tom.

The younger boy looked unconscious, skin alarmingly flushed, body held inches from the floor by Tom's grip - who seemed to have caught him instinctively.

The party came to an complete stop, silence falling.

He swallowed; suddenly wishing he hadn't drank so much. He felt sick, but he walked forwards with determined steps, fully aware that he was probably the best potions based healer in the room, and that they were all _dead_ if Harry was injured in a more…permanent manner. There was no guarantee of safety for temporary damage either.

Crap.

"My lord?" he asked, hesitantly, going for the title as Tom wasn't in the best of moods. "What happened?"

Tom shook his head, wordless for a moment, still half cradling Harry's head and upper torso in his lap. The Slytherin Heir's other hand reached blindly for the shattered glass, fixing it with a wandless reparo, as he studied it with a manic tint to his scrutiny.

"He just collapsed…I don't know why."

It was the second part of that statement that absolutely terrified him: in both content and the significance of Tom openly admitting ignorance in the middle of their common room.

Tom hissed something clipped in parseltongue.

"Poison," the young Dark Lord continued, mind speeding with analysis of the situation. "Magic activated, Harry's careful with his drink. No one but a Slytherin can get in here -" The tension in the room shot up. "-Abraxas check the other bottles, the poison would have to be inactive in them - Bezoar - _accio bezoar."_

A moment later, the poison antidote came zooming in from the other room, violently fast, and Tom immediately forced it into the younger boy's mouth, posture not relaxing.

No change, and Harry was beginning to twitch.

"Bezoar," Tom muttered, "- most poisons - Zevi, what poisons aren't cured by the bezoar?"

His mind jumped into action, even as his body froze at the lethal stare focussed on him.

"Aconite. Cyanide. Hemlock. Botulin."

Another venomous hiss of parseltongue.

"The other bottles are tainted," Abraxas interrupted.

Tom's jaw tightened and no one was stupid enough to outwardly start panicking, lest they attract attention.

The next second, his Lord's eyes snapped to him once more, with something dark and desperate lurking there.

A plea.

An order.

_HelpHim-FixHim-DoSomething! _

Zevi almost choked on the intensity and pressed fingers to his temples, frantically trying to think through panic.

2-6 hours for Aconite to kill, Cyan - shit, it was Cyanide.

Harry's skin was red.

Cyanide caused the body to not be able to process oxygen, causing the blood to come to the surface… Unconscious with large, sudden doses.

"It's Cyanide," he said quickly, striding over. "He's got Cyanide poisoning…f_u-_we need to get him to vomit; if he's ingested the poison recently..."

"Will that work?" Tom demanded, though he was already aiming his wand at the younger boy and he didn't waste any time in casting the spell to cause him to throw-up, shifting his grip so Harry wouldn't choke on his own sick.

The next second, alcohol spattered onto the floor. More, and more, and more. It wasn't working!

"Prince," Tom all but growled, threat in his voice.

Zevi almost felt like he was going to cry, shutting his eyes to the scene before him, trying to think logically - and fast. The magic in the room, Tom's magic, abruptly shifted, and his eyes snapped open again.

"Magic activated," Tom said flatly. "The caster is still fuelling the magic."

And then there was a slow, mocking, clapping noise.

His Lord's head lifted, locking on the noise.

Lestrange. Zevi felt his insides plunge.

"Wow, that's…disappointing," Lestrange said. "Normally, you would have come to that conclusion within five seconds of the event - can't you see he makes you weak? Emotionally compromised?"

"You did this to him," it wasn't a question, and there was no intonation or feeling in the Slytherin Heir's voice. "Fix him."

"I'm doing this for you, Tom," Lestrange said. "It's for your own good."

"My own good?" Tom questioned, softly. Far too softly. Zevi saw his eyes flick down, so fast, assessing Harry's deteriorating condition, before back up to Lestrange's face. "I see…you, perhaps, feel that my priorities are not as they should be?"

"He takes up all your time, it's not healthy," Lestrange said, a whining hint to his tone now. "I mean, I'm sure he's good enough in bed, but you could just hire a whore for that, you're giving him the delusion he's something special to you."

Tom looked at the other for a moment, still no expression on his face. Zevi felt torn between horror, dread, and boiling anger. How _dare_ he!

"That's not a delusion."The Slytherin Heir said the words very calmly, quietly, but his eyes-Salazar his eyes were blazing, burning. Lestrange took a step back; seeming to suddenly realise that he may have misjudged the situation when Tom set Harry aside, rising to his feet, wand twirling menacingly in his fingers.

"I-What?" Lestrange whispered. Tom smiled, cruelly.

"Harry is special to me, Lestrange," their Lord clarified. "But I understand that you may be feeling a little…neglected? Fix him, and we can talk about this further."

Lestrange's face tightened.

"No," he breathed. "We can talk about this now, while I actually have your attention."

"Oh, I assure you," Tom purred, stalking over to the other, pressing lips to Lestrange's ear, causing the other boy to shiver and stop backing away. "You will most definitely have my attention from now on."

Tom paused, leaning back, voice low and his magic…seductive, dangerous, but suddenly so very seductive. A glance around the room saw that many were, indeed, gravitating and leaning towards the beguiling, magnetic aura.

"Fix Harry, and I promise I will give you all the attention you _deserve. _You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"You…promise?" Lestrange asked, voice suddenly weak. Zevi felt his insides jerking, the scene before him painful to watch.

The adoration on Lestrange's face hurt, and the painful chord that if it wasn't _Harry,_ many of them in this room may have once tried this stunt against a favourite themselves.

"I'll swear on it if it pleases you," Tom replied.

"I-," Lestrange hesitated.

"For me?" Tom added, smiling charmingly, a hand on the other boy's shoulder.

Lestrange smiled back, shakily, not looking quite there, pupils blown and Zevi closed his eyes.

Honey and flies.

The next second, the redness was draining from Harry's features, and he was throwing up again, before shuddering and going completely still.

Alphard shot over, pressing fingers to Harry's pulse, before looking at Tom and nodding.

He was healing.

In an instant, Tom had dropped Lestrange as if he were filthy to touch, striding over, dropping next to Harry himself, his own fingers going to the pulse point.

The focus in his eyes was…striking. Lestrange looked startled, before his face twisted.

"You said you'd give me-"

""_Lacero"_

The dark curse was cast immediately, just shy of the pain of the Cruciatus, and Zevi got the feeling that if Tom wasn't in Hogwarts and aware of Dumbledore noticing Unforgiveable wards and coming to stop him, the torture curse would be what Lestrange was under.

Tom didn't look over, calmly watching the process of Harry's healing.

Calmly…but he wasn't calm. Lestrange's screams attributed to that - and the way his skin was shredding and growing and tearing itself to pieces over and over again. Bones snapped and promptly fixed to break again, bruises forming in a mottled dance of rage.

After a while, Tom cut the curse and looked over to the panting body on the floor, whimpering, expression flat.

"How are you enjoying my attentions, Lestrange?" he asked, pleasantly.

"My-my lord-"

"I'd kill you; but that would disturb the time line of events and obliterate reality," Tom continued, voice taking on a hint of callous fury. "And I'd sincerely love to torture you further, but the attention you _deserve_ from me is non-existent. I wouldn't waste the time it took to spit on you, let alone degrade myself to doing those things that you desire." Tom smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile. "You are nothing but a disgusting, pathetic cockroach - _worthless." _

Tears were rolling down Lestrange's face; crushed.

Tom looked around the room, taking in the hatred and anger directed at Lestrange from every single occupant. Alphard looked like he wanted to castrate the bastard.

None of them were fond of the brunette, indeed, even before this and now…_attacking_ Harry? _Poisoning_ him? _Insulting_ him in front of their faces?

The Slytherin Heir spread his hands to take in every green tie in the room.

"Impressive me, but just leave him alive - I'll deal with him after my _higher priorities_. For now, he's all yours. "

Lestrange took one look at the dozens of malevolent wands pointed his way, and fainted.

* * *

Harry blinked, his head pounding, something soft beneath him. His bed.

He moved to sit up, only for a hand to press firmly against his shoulder, slowing his movements, though not pushing him down.

His throat felt raw, his insides twisted as he was half propped into a sitting position, and then allowed no further. Tom. The young Dark Lord was sitting next to him, a book discarded.

There was no one in the Dorm room outside of them, and it was oddly quiet…the noises from the Common Room were blocked off. Silenced. He had a sudden flash of déjà vu, and reached sluggishly for his wand.

"I swear to _god_ if you drugged me again-" he began, warningly, only to start coughing. Salazar.

Tom handed him a glass water, silently, eyes piercing. Harry took a couple of sips, experienced enough by now that he couldn't drink it too fast. "What happened?"

"Lestrange poisoned you."

Harry's head was spinning. Poisoned? As in-?

"Seriously?"

"You have another near death experience to your growing list, it would seem," Tom replied tightly, fingers wrapped absently around his wrist…his pulse. The snake was vivid on his arm.

"There goes this being a good year, and that was, what, not even to the end of the party? Fate hates me," Harry scowled.

A laugh startled out of the other's mouth. Harry hesitated, glancing at the other.

"Where, er, where's Lestrange now? You didn't-"

"Kill him? That would blow up the time line," Tom said, not sounding pleased with that.

"Did you…" Harry swallowed, taking another sip of water, feeling uncomfortable. "You didn't…er, torture him, did you?"

"Not as much as I should have," Tom said disgustedly. "He'd enjoy it coming from me - but give me time, and I'll come up with a solution to that soon enough."

"No, it's fine, don't-" Harry began.

Tom gave a warning tisk.

"Don't torture him? Don't _worry _about it?" the young Dark Lord offered, dangerously. "He tried to kill you, hero. Don't even go into the realm of defending his actions. I won't hear of it."

"Actually, I think he was just desperate for you to notice him," Harry mumbled. "At any cost." Tom's eyebrows raised, and Harry continued quickly. "You said he fancied you, and you've been, I don't know-"

"**Lestrange is a needy, jealous little prick who has absolutely **_**nothing**_** to do with how I treat you,**" Tom hissed, suddenly, and Harry froze. "So cut the guilt and the hero-complex right now, am I making myself clear?"

"I-"

"Am. I. Making. Myself. Clear?" Tom demanded, livid. Harry swallowed.

"You-" he began, again, stubbornly.

"I will not watch you to collapse or nearly die in front of me again, Harry," Tom said, nearly in a whisper, staring him down, fingers digging into his shoulders. "And I will not tolerate your idiotic disregard for your own safety any longer. You have officially lost the right to plead mercy on behalf of the people who would seek to harm you."

"I don't-" Harry tried.

"_**Shut up,"**_ Tom ordered. "**You scared the **_**s*****_** out of me tonight, so don't even bother attempting to argue with me on this, because you're wasting your breath."**

Harry didn't think he could have retorted to that, even if he wanted to, he was so stuck in shock.

_You scared the crap out of me tonight.._ his throat felt tight.

Tom's glare subsided when he didn't speak, and he dragged a hand through his hair.

Instead, Harry struggled for his composure, managing a weak smirk.

"Alcohol really does lower your verbal inhibitions, huh?"

Tom rolled his eyes.

* * *

A/N: So. I'm not sure how that turned out. If you recognise it, it was either influenced by JK or Eos9 (so, the awesome bits, basically.)

Thank you so so much for the reviews. I was totally thrilled. I read each one at least five times, and then work more quickly on updating for you because I feel all fuzzy and loved. Psychology calls it reciprocation, I believe…

And I have the horrible stress of uni applications, so each comment is like a ray of sunshine! And that sounded really sappy...eh...


	98. Chapter 97

Chapter 97:

The next morning at breakfast, Harry still felt shaky and paranoia had also hit.

Outside of Hogwarts a Dark Lord was trying to kill him. Some Gryffindors were liable to punch him (Ginny, McLaggen) and now he was on the receiving end of attempted murder in Slytherin.

No where was safe; and there was no safe place to escape to.

He didn't think he could even stomach his coffee, it churned in front of his eyes so. His insides writhed beneath his skin, mind crawling with the piles of stuff and problems heaped in a wobbling stack.

Lestrange was nowhere to seen, and Harry opened his mouth to question that, only for Tom to speak before he could.

"Don't you dare."

Harry blinked.

"You don't even know what I was going to say," he said, indignantly. The other Slytherin's glanced at them, obviously listening. Tom's head angled in his direction, as he finished off his toast in a few quick, neat bites.

"Where's Lestrange? Is he alright? You didn't hurt him too badly, did you?" Tom offered, mockingly.

Harry frowned. Tom favoured him with a particular look, half exasperated and half something else.

"So don't even go there, and don't mutter a sarcastic 'now I'm worried' either - he doesn't deserve it."

Harry's mouth closed again, before after a moment of he turned to Tom again, only to pause once more when Lestrange himself shuffled towards the table.

His fingers clenched marginally over his cutlery, barely noticeable in the shift of grip. Glamour.

The other boy was wearing a Glamour; and Harry could only assume it was hiding injury.

Alphard and Zevi both shuffled up to block out Lestrange's normal seat, Abraxas' eyes narrowed, but Tom didn't show any reaction or even look up at new arrival. Lestrange trembled slightly.

"C-can I talk to you? Tom?"

Silence.

Lestrange appeared visibly more agitated, fingers twisting anxiously.

"Um, I'll just s-start then," he stammered.

"-I'd rather you didn't," Tom interrupted, voice a drawl. "The sound of your voice would probably be enough to make grown men kill themselves in boredom, and I am scarcely of the character to subject myself to it either." Lestrange swallowed.

"_Tom_," Harry hissed, warningly, too softly for anyone but the Slytherin Heir to hear, not quite able to stop himself.

Sure, Lestrange was a total arsehole who tried to kill him, but…it was the scenario with Tom all over again. He was so used to trying save people, because no one had ever saved him, that he no longer cared who he was saving. Lestrange was just…pathetic.

Tom's gaze flicked to him in an indication he'd heard, but he gave no intention of yielding to the implicit suggestion to 'play nice.' Instead, the danger in his aura simply grew.

In the meanwhile, Lestrange had seemingly plucked up fragile scraps of courage again, or perhaps a desire for suicide…was this how the other Slytherin's felt like when he constantly pushed and baited Tom? Sheer shock at the stupidity of the action and amazement at how he could be oblivious to the threat?

* * *

"I don't understand what he's got that I don't," Lestrange continued.

Draco kept his gaze fixed on the brunette, wary for any sign that the other was going to attack. He suppressed a wince, exchanging a look with Abraxas, incredulous that Cygnus was still pushing after so clear a dismissal, after _torture. _

Sure, Harry did it…but Harry was Harry, and he could hardly imagine Harry and Tom not being like that…and Riddle, Riddle thrived on Harry's challenge, Lestrange's was a copy.

He didn't know if the elder boy was aware of quite how much he seemed to be emulating Potter in his approach to the Slytherin Heir.

Tom's snorted, the only sign that he was aware of the other boy standing hardly two feet away from him, and he could tell the silence was getting to Lestrange too, spots of colour appearing high on his cheeks.

Harry looked increasingly uneasy and uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation, and he seemed to rather wish to hit someone.

Anyone who didn't know the golden boy wouldn't have noticed, he'd picked up a certain unreadable qualities and masks from his time in the past, but Draco had spent the last five years tormenting the boy - of course _he_ knew when Potter was even a tad agitated.

"He's trying to _change_ you, how can you stand for that?" Lestrange demanded, practically howling the words at the continued dismissal.

Tom's head did turn at that, and Lestrange hurriedly continued, though he stiffened and his fingers scrubbed twitchily at his skin.

"He'd make you give up all of your aims for him! He'd have you be nothing but Tom Riddle-"

Draco sucked in a deep inhalation of breath, and Lestrange's own eyes widened with horror.

Oh Riddle was paying attention now.

"_Nothing_ but Tom Riddle?" The young Dark Lord repeated with a tone of utter menace. "You perhaps you feel I cannot achieve anything without my…pseudonym?"

"I-I didn't mean it like that-"

"Yes you did," Riddle said flatly. Lestrange shuddered, licking dry lips and Draco noted that the rest of the hall were turning to stare as the confrontation escalated.

Harry now appeared like he wanted to murder rather than hit, or have the earth swallow him whole.

Dumbledore had shot to attention, as had Weasley and the mudblood.

"You're brilliant, you could achieve whatever you want to…it's just, well, Riddle isn't exactly a pureblood name, and Potter would probably have you go screw some muggles and start some apple pie life-"

"Excuse me?" Potter near hissed. It seemed fury had won out over embarrassment. Lestrange rounded on the Gryffindor, seemingly much more confident in facing him than Riddle.

"You heard me - you don't _belong_ with us anyway, with your light side ideals, do you really think just cause you're a good kisser or something that it's going to work out for you? Wake up!"

He glanced at Riddle, but the other had cooled from seeming rage, and was now watching the two with an indecipherable expression.

"Should I be worried about your interest and apparent knowledge of my kissing abilities?" Harry questioned flatly. Lestrange spluttered, but Harry continued before the other could. "And, just for reference, no, I don't believe I ever claimed to belong with the Dark, we both know I don't." Riddle's expression flickered at that, for a scarce second, too fast to read. "But do you really believe that has the blindest bit of effect on my opinion and aims regarding of _Tom's_ future?"

"Oh don't lie, you're all over him-"

"This coming from you?" Harry sneered, smiling sweetly, but there was something deadly in his countenance now, and a intenseness that suggested he was deliberately looking anywhere but Riddle. "There's a time loop you _idiot. _Him not being what you want him to be wipes me and my world off the plane of existence."

There was nothing but shock on Lestrange's face, and a touch of confusion.

"So rest assured, Cygnus, and get the _f***_ out of my way or me and my light side ideals will destroy you."

He abruptly rose from his seat and walked out of the hall.

There was a silence of a different sort as everyone's eyes rested on the retreating figure.

"Is it just me, or does the kid seem a bit stressed out?" Alphard said.

Draco and Abraxas exchanged disbelieving glances.

* * *

An uncomfortable silence had descended on the four of them, clogging up paths of conversation that had once seemed so easy and natural.

He felt sick; and it wasn't just cause he'd felt nauseas all of his crappy morning with poison after taste in his mouth.

He regretted his outburst now; it was too emotional, too…dark eyes had barely left him in contemplation, and it more than a little unnerving.

Ron had his arms folded sullenly, but he was there…which had to mean something, right?

"What's _he_ doing here?" the red head demanded, tipping his head in Tom's direction. The Slytherin Heir stared back expressionlessly in reply, and Harry just knew he was withholding a scathing response.

"Why do you think I'm here, Weasley?" Tom returned instead, with a tone too calm to be normal.

Hermione shifted, playing with a strand of hair.

"I suppose you want to make sure Harry doesn't spill too many Death Eater secrets," Ron spat.

"But that mark isn't like the Dark Mark," Hermione burst out, seemingly unable to contain herself.

"That's because Harry _isn't_ a Death Eater," Tom replied. "And I have no qualms in saying he never will be…not in the least because he'd make a terrible one."

Harry's lip twitched at that, a restrained smile, but Ron looked even more furious.

"You still branded him! It hardly matters what it looks like!"

"I'm sure Harry minds," Tom returned, smirking. "It could be embarrassing for him if I'd made it look like a daisy chain."

"What does it do then?" Hermione questioned, ignoring the other part of the conversation, leaning forwards slightly with curiosity as if she wanted to grab his arm.

"I'd explain, but…trade secrets," Tom smirked.

Hermione looked over at him, something fierce in her expression. Harry explained immediately.

"I don't know all the ins and outs, but it can move, cause pain, talk and physically paralyse my arm and lock it to the spot as well as pull me around, that I've seen so far."

Ron reddened further.

"And you let him put that on your arm? Why? That smitten are we?"

Harry nearly growled.

"I believe he was dealing for his Godfather's life at the time," Tom smiled, a mirthless smile.

"Dealing-" Ron's brow furrowed, anger not dissipating, but joined by horror. "And you took advantage of that? You _bastard_. Not surprising seeing as you smack him around too."

"Of course I took advantage of it," Tom said coldly. "I'm a Psychopath. It's what I _do._ And it was nothing he didn't agree to. As for smacking him around; far less then most believe I should considering his severe attitude problem."

"You shouldn't hit him at all - you don't deserve him!" Ron snarled.

Harry had a flash back to the previous night, and felt he had to speak up.

"Leave off, Ron," he said quietly. Tom's gaze shot to him.

"Yeah, defend him," Ron spat. "Just like you always do."

"Yeah," Harry snapped, beyond any composure, "piss off like you always do when I do something you don't agree with -

"Boys-" Hermione began, desperately, shrilly.

"-So what if I defend him? I'd defend any of my friends. You wouldn't be getting on my back if I was defending you or Hermione."

"Well we're actually your friends! But hey, I suppose you have better friends now, right? Everything we've gone through and you ditch us for that jerk when you've only known him for a year. What's he ever done for you?"

"You'd be surprised," Harry hissed.

"-Stop it-" Hermione tried again.

"Try me," Ron dared.

"He saved my life just last night for starters."

And suddenly everything was too quiet.  
It was becoming an awfully familiar occurence.

Ron looked startled, and Hermione had tears welling in his eyes, and Tom…well, Tom was a bloody stone to get emotions out as always, and seemed largely unaffected by the whole scene, but he had gone still.

"W-what happened last night?" Ron demanded, voice quieter now, shaky. Harry felt like slapping a hand over his mouth.

"I-never mind-" he faltered under two twin glares.

"Lestrange poisoned him," Tom informed them, when Harry didn't speak.

"WHAT!" Hermione shrieked, pulling out her wand. "Where is he? How _dare_ he - urgh, I'll make sure he never has children!"

"That would obliterate the time line, unfortunately," Tom deadpanned.

Hermione stared at the Slytherin Heir. Ron was troubled, torn. Hermione's chin jutted out.

"Did you torture him?" she asked.

"Yes, and he has more coming when I catch up with him," Tom replied, flatly.

Hermione nodded.

"Good."

Harry gaped and Tom raised a brow, before smirking.

"Want to help?"

* * *

A/N: So, this seemed like a good, natural place to stop, though I had more in mind initially. Oh well, you'll get that next time. Do you guys think my pacing is too slow? I do more moments than even days and I'm wondering if it seems to drag too much? Thanks a million times for the amazing reviews! I love you guys. Every review alert is like a ray of sunshine to my day, and I hope you feel the same way about my updates =)

Not sure if I like this one or not...it was hard to write.


	99. Chapter 98

Chapter 98:

Harry paused, catching a glimpse of growing familiar blonde hair, and without giving too much thought to his actions, he hurried to catch up.

"Hey - Luna - Luna?"

The girl paused, turning around to face him, a polite expression on her face, not seeming surprised or bothered that he knew her name.

"Harry Potter," she greeted calmly, with a smile.

"Um, hi," he said, feeling awkward now.

Sure, he'd wanted to talk to her, but he'd never actually planned how to do it.

"Could you…I mean…what did you mean by a slap from Fate and a kiss from Luck?" he ended up just blurting it out, and could feel his cheeks heating in both embarrassment and memory.

"Fate wanted me to slap you, and Luck wanted me to give you a kiss," she said, as if that explained everything.

"Well, yeah," Harry replied. "But what do you mean Fate and Luck? They're not-" he paused just shy of saying they're not real things. "I don't understand," he said instead.

She nodded thoughtfully.

"Your head _is_ rather full of Nargles," she said, in an agreeing tone of voice. "I could make you a necklace that could help with that?"

"Oh," Harry said. "That would be great, Luna, thanks…er, what are Nargles?" he asked, wondering when he'd managed to get so utterly distracted.

"They're things that float around and make your brain go all fuzzy."

"Any of them called Tom?" Harry asked, jokingly, before he could stop himself. She looked pensive.

"No, I don't think so," she said. "There's a Mottie though, which is nearly the same thing."

He blinked.

"Well, anyway, could you explain what Fate and Luck are in a way that would get past the Nargles?" he questioned, wondering if he was fighting a losing battle.

"Fate is everything that is predetermined and should be. Luck is her sister, and opponent in their game"

That really didn't explain all that much.

"But are they real?" he asked. She gave him an odd look.

"Of course they're real, Harry Potter - just because they're not real like you and me that doesn't mean they're not real and don't exist. You're governed by them, aren't you?"

Right.

He resisted the urge to smooth away a headache.  
This was going to be a long conversation.

* * *

Hermione stared nervously at the dark haired, admittedly really rather handsome, teenager in front of her.

She'd said 'no' to his offer, more due to the way Harry and Ron were staring at her than any real convictions against torturing Lestrange, the _arse. _How dare he?

So why was he here now?

He stood in front of her, a beguiling smirk on his lips and a magnetically engaging gleam in his eye. Still, she took a nervous step back; wishing she had someone else with her.

It was still only late afternoon morphing to early evening, so she hadn't thought to need someone to hold her hand but…being tracked down personally by Tom Riddle wasn't exactly an expected outcome.

He'd largely ignored her and Ron, unless it was in his particular interests to converse or communicate in some way with them. She'd certainly never been alone with him before.

"What do you want?" she asked, before immediately wincing at the almost accusatory edge to her tone. She was just…

"You seem flustered," he drawled. "Not my doing, surely. You always appeared to have such a level head."

"No!" she snapped, hoping to avoid the sensation of heat rising from her skin in blush. "You place yourself in too high esteem. I'm just surprised you'd deigned to talk to us…me."

He folded his arms lazily, leaning into the wall in her way, that charismatically, infuriatingly casual expression on his face.

"I couldn't help but notice that your heart didn't really seem invested in your earlier refusal…and who am I to deny you the chance to defend your friend? Would you like to rework your answer?"

"Why do you care?" she questioned guardedly. "From what I've heard you've got all the sadistic tendencies to desire to harm him yourself."

His smirk broadened, but it was crueller now, but no less attractive for it…and for god's sake! She needed to get a grip on herself.

It wasn't that she liked him. She didn't. She was just flattered by the attention, and the intensity of his singular scrutiny was liable to make anyone feel dazzled - she'd seen it happen with every single person, barring Harry, that the Slytherin Heir paid attention too.

That hardly reassured her though.

"Firstly, because Lestrange would no doubt gain satisfaction from any attention I pay him right now and would in some way see it as a reward, which would thus be counterproductive in dissuading him from so much as _looking_ at Harry in the wrong way again…" there was something menacing and cold in his voice that made her want to run, but she stood her ground determinedly, "which leads to my second point…I therefore need someone else to do it, and who better than you?"

"Because getting tortured by a muggleborn girl would be utterly humiliating for him," she finished.

He clapped his hands together, slowly, mockingly and yet not.

"Clever girl," he said, and though she knew he was probably only offering that praise in hopes that she would agree, she couldn't help but dangerously take triumph in the compliment. He was a _genius _after all.

Nonetheless, her conscience did tweak at the thought of torturing someone, she was just so _angry_ that Lestrange would try to kill Harry.

"I don't know," she hedged, uncertainly. "I don't think Harry would really like it…"

"You'll find Harry often doesn't really like what's good for him - he hates the Hospital Wing, for example, and has many a time tried to escape while injured -" Riddle smiled, more genuinely this time, a glint in eyes that hadn't previously been present, before it was gone and he was taking a step towards her.

His hand was a solid, warm, tingling weight on her upper arm, and he leant forwards slightly as he continued. "

But, take your time, I understand this is a big step for you. Come find me when you've thought it through, okay Hermione? I think we could make a good team on this endeavour."

"Okay…"

She released a breath she hadn't realised she was holding when he turned the corner.

* * *

Harry looked up when a figure - Tom, of course, he didn't know why he was ever surprised by that any more - entered his obscure section of the library.

"Bit late for you to be skulking around here, isn't it Golden Boy, you're missing dinner. Have you been here all day since we left your pet lions?"

"Largely," he replied. "Shouldn't you be at dinner yourself?

""You weren't there. It was suspicious," Tom smirked. "Who knows what you were up to…what are you researching so avidly?"

Harry hesitated, and Tom walked closer, flipping his current book around. So sue him, he was looking up the binds and stuff, trying to figure out the mark in the aftermath of it's big reveal.

Tom smirked slightly, glancing at him with a knowing look.

Harry scowled, but didn't say anything in response, knowing it would only add fuel to the fire, extracting the book gently but firmly from the other's grip.

Tom was silent for a moment, before he spoke again, with a different purpose in his voice.

"What you said earlier, did you mean it?"

"What did I say earlier?" Harry asked, but there was an uncomfortable squeezing sensation in his stomach, and he turned a page more intently.

"That you don't belong on the Dark Side," Tom said, with a low hint of menace.

Harry stilled for a second, glancing up, having a feeling that this conversation was the true reason as to why the Slytherin Heir had tracked him down with such apparent urgency to skip a meal.

"Yeah, I meant it," he replied quietly, before discarding his current book in place of another.

The next second, a hand was painfully tight on his shoulder spinning him around, while Tom's other hand rested on the shelf by his head. Harry raised a brow.

"Pinning me against shelves in a darkened library, Tom? People might get the wrong impression if they saw us right now."

"I think we need to clear up a few misconceptions," Tom murmured, dangerously.

"And that involves shoving me against library shelves as if we're about to start kissing…?"Tom's free fingers curled into a fist, furious, violent.

"I can _start_ kissing you if that will get the message through you thick skull, if you really want," Tom snapped. "I don't particularly care what I have to do get you to realise that you _belong_ with the Dark Side, seriously, explain to me the processes of your mind because I can't quite lower myself to the same level of stupidity?"

"What the hell do you mean you can start kissing me!" Harry yelped, mind stuck in panic. "I don't want, by the way!"

Tom scowled, the first curling and uncurling again, the only lack of restraint the young Dark Lord allowed.

"Salazar, you're such a bloody teenager! Don't be so easily distracted, that wasn't the point - why do you think you don't belong on the Dark Side?"

Harry spluttered.

"You were the one who threatened to kiss me! It's not my fault! Why would you - Salazar-"

"Well, it got your attention didn't it?" Tom rolled his eyes, smirking. "Although I didn't realise you'd be going off an annoyingly irrelevant tangent. Question. Answer. Now."

"Because!" Harry said, frustrated. "I'm not a Death Eater. I'm not _on_ the Dark Side or a believer in the Dark Side cause, "It makes absolutely no sense to me why you're bothering with all this, outside of your love of mind games, and my belonging on the Dark Side makes even less sense!"

And with that, Harry felt like wincing at the bluntness of the statement. Tom's grip flexed on his shoulder, his gaze piercing, then he turned thoughtful.

"I'm the leader of the Dark Side, agreed?"

"Agreed…" Harry said warily.

"So it's my prerogative on who belongs on my side, and thus, by extension, the dark side?"

"I-" Harry frowned.

"You're on the Dark side, Golden Boy," Tom stated flatly.

Harry swallowed, but forced a smirk.

"I don't get a choice in that?"

"Nope," Tom said, cheerfully, but there was something serious in his eyes, and something that suggested that this conversation was only temporary stalled, not dealt with.

The moment broke as there was a loud smack and rattle of dropped books at the end of the aisle.

His wand was out in seconds, as was Tom's, before they both blinked.

A fourth year squeaked and scuttled off with wide eyes.

Harry groaned.

"Oh bloody hell," he muttered. "Now people are going to talk even more."

Tom snorted.

"You're far too concerned with public opinion, sweetheart."

* * *

A/N: So, it's been an awesome week, and I don't hate this chapter. I call that progress.

Thank you so much for the amazing reviews, I need a stronger word than amazing…phenomenal? Brilliant? Heart-warming? And thanks to who asked to translate this story into Russian! Because that's just totally awesome and thank you! I can't believe you're going to that much effort.

And oh my, I'm almost on 2000 reviews, now. You guys have two major rewards coming up I believe, because I'm almost on 100! Wouldn't it just be fabulous if I had 2000 reviews and 100 chapters? Heee. I go hyper just thinking about that. Anyway. What do you guys want as reward? (Reward returns are of course, welcomed :P) 

And, and, guess what? I got my first two Uni Offers! Wooooo! 

So, among other things, this week has been brilliant, and you guys attributed too that, strongly. So much appreciation.

I hope you enjoyed the update.


	100. Chapter 99

Chapter 99 (100 =O!)

Dumbledore approached him the next day at dinner, as if the increased amount of whispers and giggling, and looks snuck in his and Tom's direction weren't bad enough.

He narrowed his eyes at the evil fourth year.

"Harry," Dumbledore greeted briskly, before dropping several items on the table in front of him.

Tom and the other Slytherins had gone rigid, not even bothering to veil the dislike they were radiating for the aged Headmaster. Dumbledore ignored them, and Harry looked down at the books now on his table.

_A compilation of time, and timely enchantments…TARDIS: Time and rewriting days in spell….Alternate Universes - Are they possible?_

His annoyance vanished almost completely, though he couldn't help but remain vaguely irritated that Dumbledore was showcasing their deal right in front of Tom - he'd gone and requested it in the middle of the night for a reason! He sighed.

Dumbledore would have his manipulations, even as he fulfilled vows to help.

"The Ministry also told me to pass this along to you," the old man stated quietly, handing him a letter and a leaflet, before continuing up to the head tables.

The whispers buzzed even louder in his ears.

He tore the letter open, disregarding that Tom's attentions had fixed on him rather pointedly.

Sirius' Trial. It was about Sirius Trial - apparently being held at the end of the week, and he banned from attending, as a minor, and instructed simply to send his memories relevant to the case.

Harry's brow furrowed with annoyance. He was pretty sure they were supposed to give more than a few days warning time. It must be like when they changed the place of his Hearing, in the morning of the day it was set to occur.

His lips thinned, and he pocketed the letter, nodding at Ron and Hermione meaningfully from across the hall.

He then turned his attention to the books, only to find Tom had already picked them up, and was eyeing them with an unreadable expression. Harry held his gaze for a moment, silently, holding out a hand.

Tom's jaw tightened, and Harry smiled back brightly, but with a level of demand in his gaze now, for Tom to hand the books back over.

The Slytherins were watching them cautiously, and those who managed to glimpse the title of the books had widened eyes and breaths caught on hooks in their chests.

Tom continued studying the books, and Harry reached out to take the texts instead - the young Dark Lord allowed that, though he didn't particularly do anything to aid the return of the books, but nor did he shift them away.

"Now what did you concede to get hold of those, Golden Boy," was all he murmured after a while, with a hint in his voice that this was another conversation they were going to have at some point.

Harry ignored him, and flicked open the first page of TARDIS with resolute determinedness, his lip twitching with amusement at the title.

* * *

Tom was heading towards the Slytherin Common room in the evening, when his path was blocked by a familiar figure - Granger.

He kept his features neutral, raising a brow.

She was the best out of Harry's lions and light side associates, but considering his general disdain for Harry's non-Slytherin (and even some of his Slytherin) _friends_, that wasn't all the high praise it initially seemed.

"I need to talk to you," she said, her cheeks a bit red, presumably with embarrassment.

He withheld his irritation expertly; he was the one who decided when they talked. Oh well. It was for a good cause.

The more of Harry's light side connections that were severed or switched over to the Dark instead, the less reason he had to support the light or ever return there.

It was simple, really.

And Lestrange would most certainly bleed with the degradation of being put in his place by a mudblood, and a girl at that.

"Have you made up your mind, then?" he asked.

She bit her lip, chewing it, without being aware of the action it seemed.

"I need more data," she said, sounding vaguely confident at least.

Her bitten lip revealed her though. Gryffindors.

More data? Ravenclaw streak; analyse decisions to death until she made them, and she didn't feel comfortable with the idea either.

"More data outside of the fact that he would have killed your best friend?" he returned.

Her eyes sparked with rage in memory, as he knew they would, but after a minute they cooled to a more rational emotional state once more.

"Yes," she said, firmly, but now she appeared nervous, and he just knew he wouldn't like her line of query.

He absently wondered whether silencing her and leaving her somewhere would anger Harry too much. Probably.

"Do you…do you _like_ him?"

Harry, not Lestrange.

"If I _liked_ him, would I be torturing him?" he replied evenly.

"I meant Harry," she said, staring at him.

He resisted the urge to close his eyes. Did he really have to have this conversation? Would she be able to tell if he just obliviated her? She'd just hunt him down for the conversation anyway though…this question and topic had been dancing in the air around her for a long time coming now.

He shrugged, elegantly.

"Sometimes," he replied, "other times not."

Of course he did! Stupid girl; did she think he would tolerate Harry and his disrespect if he didn't have any affection for him?

Her lip was bitten again.

"As, um, more than a friend?" she clarified.

"I never thought you were one for rumours," he said, continuing his walk. He almost cursed her audacity when she hurried to walk along beside him.

"I'm not!" she snapped, magic flaring (rather pathetically in comparison to Harry's.) "But that doesn't mean I don't see the same evidence which the rumours come from, and its more than slightly suggestive."

He spun to face her sharply: she was just going to follow him all the way to Slytherin at this rate, and she couldn't be allowed knowledge of where the entrance was.

"Oh?" he questioned, smiling, with a dangerous lilt to his tone. _Stop following._

Her fingers played with the hem of her sleeve, anxiously.

"You touch him almost all the time," she said quickly, "and you call him 'sweetheart' and 'darling' and always have at least one fraction of your focus on him at any given time, and-"

"Have you ever tried to hold Harry's attention in a conversation he doesn't want to have?" he asked, abruptly. She came to a halt, her confusion clear on her face.

"Yes, he…" her eyes widened slightly. "He evades."  
Well, she wasn't slow on the uptake.

"Holding onto him stops him from running away," he replied, "and simultaneously ensures his concentration and attention on the matter at hand, especially with me."

"Why especially with you?" she was quick to demand.

His jaw tightened fractionally, but he smirked, taking a step towards her, placing a hand on her shoulder, same as the day before, and another hand on her jaw like he would have with Harry, though unlike with Harry he got the immediate desire to let go and go wash his hands or something.

As a rule he generally didn't like touching people unless he felt it was necessary, and he certainly didn't like them touching him without express permission…Harry was the exception to that.

He figured it was due to the Horcrux, and if it wasn't…well, the Horcrux explanation suited him fine, so there was no need for deeper analysis on why Harry was yet again different then anyone else. Her muscles immediately kno

tted, his fingers dancing over her pressure points.

"Do you feel comfortable this close to a Psychopath who could and _would_ snap your neck in a few seconds?" he asked rhetorically, staring at her.

He felt her swallow, the fright near radiating off her.

"Harry's not scared of you," she returned, defiantly though quieter now. "And you wouldn't snap _his_ neck."

She was intelligenct and perceptive, he'd give her that. Best of a bad lot. Still.

"No," he murmured, the smirk broadening. "But I _would_ hurt him, if he pushed me, and he knows that. He also didn't grow up in a touch friendly environment, he's wary and focussed on it by instinctive default."

She took a step back, away from him, and his eyes gleamed. That was better.

He had a feeling she wouldn't be seeing his constant 'touching' in nearly so fond a light - admittedly, it was fond, as well as warning and controlling, with Harry, and flirtatious on a playful level that didn't really mean anything, but as he'd told the other boy actions were very rarely only motivated by one thing.

There were multiple layers to everything he did, and 'touching' wasn't an exception.

"I wouldn't let you hurt him," she near growled, venom in her tone, warning.

"Oh please," he scoffed, mocking and cold. "And you would stop me…how? Whether you aid me or not, Hermione, and things are more beneficial for both of us if you do aid me, you don't want to even _attempt_ to get in my way. You're very smart, and fairly powerful…but you're not on equal terms with me, and you _never_ will be."

She glared at him, and he almost tilted his head back at the fierceness in it, but smiled back.

"I'm so glad we had this chat," he said cheerfully. "Do you have enough data now?"

He didn't wait for a reply, striding away, smug in the knowledge that she wasn't following this time.

"Yes, you _do_ care about him…" she called after him.

He quickened his pace, and didn't look back.

Mudblood.

He need to talk to that Lovegood girl as well sometime.

* * *

Ginny had looked even more pale and drawn when Harry had seen her, wasting away and that was what led him to be sitting in an empty classroom now, turning the golden Locket over and over in his hands.

He'd warded the room, heavily, and Tom had seemed busy enough earlier that he wasn't liable to come charging in - the Slytherin Heir thought he was reading those books, and he did intend to that as well.

He drew in a shaky breath, and didn't give his mind a chance to baulk from what he was doing. What was another deal now?

"**Open."**

If anyone could tell him about Horcruxes and their effects, it was…It.

He honestly didn't know what to call it.

Black smoke issued once more from the locket, forming that figure with searing bloody eyes. It seemed to look around the room, before fixing its attention on him.

"Harry," it greeted, coldly. "I was wondering when we would talk again."

"V…what do I call you? For the sake of this conversation?" he asked bluntly. "You're not Tom, but you're not Voldemort either."

It was silent for a moment, staring at him icily, with a touch of…amusement?

"Call me Marvolo," it said finally. Harry nodded, warily.

His mind was baulking, despite best efforts, but he clamped a lid on his panic and revulsion.

"Right, erm, Marvolo, I need your help."

"I know," it said, and if it had a mouth not shadow, he would have bet 'Marvolo' would be smirking at this point. "You want to know if we are affecting the red-headed wench."

"Are we…?" Harry questioned, wondering if it would reply.

"Yes," Marvolo said flatly. "She's emotionally open to you, and so your inferiority is latching onto her."  
Inferiority...must mean the Horcrux in him.

"Why?" Harry demanded, horrified, sick to the stomach.

"Because we want life," it hissed, taking several steps towards him, causing Harry to back up, his head pounding. "You try living in a single object for as long as we have, to have no control, barely the company, and no capacity for sensation."

Harry felt bile, and bizarrely, sympathy claw up his throat.

"No capacity for sensation?" he questioned.

"We can't eat, we can't drink, sleep, dream, we can't wander around as we please or talk without being summoned…" it explained, tone acidic.

Like the Diary. The DiaryTomHorcrux was trying to come back to life, regain a _body._

"Why her?"

"Because she offers it," Marvolo drawled, witheringly. "You of all people should know, _Harry,_ that the scars we cut are permanent."

"Permanent?" Harry demanded, taking a step forward. "Do you mean she can't be fixed? Can't be-"

"Oh," it smirked. "She can. Of course she can."

"How?" he demanded. "Tell me how!"

There was a pause, and it said nothing. Harry deflated, eyes narrowed and glaring.

"You-"

"What do I get in return for my assistance in this matter?"  
It's voice was silky, smooth, deadlly.

And in an instant, Harry knew why it even participating in this conversation, and that the knowledge it had so suspiciously freely offered, wasn't free at all…it was a fish hook filled with bait that he could scarcely refuse.

His muscles knotted, his fists clenching. He felt light headed.

"You have a price in mind," he stated.

It nodded, drifting towards him, and this time, he stayed his ground.

"If _you_ help me come back to life and restore myself a body, I will take care of it for you. all your friends and your family will be safe from us…and from you," it offered, persuasively.

Shadows wrapped around him in tendrils, drowning him, enveloping him, scarlet eyes so close that he was sure their image would burn onto his retinas.

A voice whispered into his ear, breath and tone as bitterly cold as liquid nitrogen and Antarctic winds.

"**So…_darling_…what do you say?" **

* * *

A/N: Whoa. 100 chapters…and 52 reviews needed to hit my goal of 2000. I've had some ideas for what request to fulfil; I'm currently leaning towards something slashy (or my attempt of that, which is apparently less slashy then when I don't intend to do something slashy, but you know, now I'm just determined to get it right haha) with a drunk Tom, and a sober Harry…but by all means, please comment, cause I haven't started writing yet and I'm open to ideas and flexible. So, um yeah.

Anyone watch children in need? I dressed up as Alex from Clockwork Orange for the sixth form fancy dress to raise money. Twas fun. 

I hope this wasn't too disappointing, for a 100th chapter. I'm not sure about it. 


	101. Chapter 100

Chapter 100!: 

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, desperately trying to think through the overwhelming aura of the Horcrux.

"Don't call me darling," was all he said, immediately, the first thing to leap into his head, an objection that roared ferociously.

It laughed, it's voice higher than Tom's smooth baritone, but still lower than Volemort's. It was as cold as Voldemort's though, as cruel.

He stared intently down at the floor, unnerved by the bloody eyes.

"What does helping you require?" he asked, tightly.

It circled him, pinning him to the spot with fluid movement, shadows. It was like wind sweeping through his hair, tousling it. His heart beat frantically, his muscles jumping,

"Not much," Marvolo said lightly, stopping behind him, and didn't that just creep him out. "I just need you to give up a little bit of soul, and a little bit of life force."

Harry's eyes widened.

"I'm not giving up my life force to you," he snapped.

"Then we'll just take it off girl ginger," it shrugged. "Can your Weasley's take another loss after daddy?"

Harry stiffened, a feeling of dread and sickness growing in his stomach. Marvolo circled to stand in front of him again, predatorily.

"Would taking the_ little_ bit of life force kill me?" he questioned. Marvolo's eyes gleamed.

"Not necessarily. You have some extra soul, inferior as it is, so I could compensate with that. You wouldn't die."

"Just be a vegetable," he returned coldly.

Marvolo shrugged, with that grace so characteristic of all of his forms.

"You or the girl…she's looking pale, isn't she? Little Ginerva?"

Harry gritted his teeth, eyes flashing dangerously.

"I could just kill you," he dared, glancing at the locket.

The scarlet gaze narrowed in return, the shadows seeming to extend, the temperature dropping further. He resisted the urge to shiver, his blood racing with caution and a tiny smidgen of fear that he would never admit to.

"And then you'd lose the chance of putting your precious Tom back together again," it dared, viciously.

Harry stared back, considering, uncertain, before his mind froze.

"Putting Tom back together?" he repeated dumbly, his mind was racing now.

The Horcruxes. He could put the Horcruxes back into Voldemort - make him Tom again, more or less - then that way the killing would surely stop, even if he failed in stopping Voldemort from ever happening.

His breath caught in his throat.

"I need to make Voldemort feel remorse…" he murmured.

Shadows didn't have an expression to analyse, and that bloody gaze revealed nothing.

Harry didn't know, but he knew now that he sure as hell couldn't let the Horcrux be destroyed now…. and the Weasley's couldn't lose another child…and he'd _promised_ Ron he'd save Ginny. The guilt and weight of inaction was almost unbearable. He'd already killed Mr Weasley, or as good as, no matter what people said and…what other choice did he have to accept?

Marvolo took a step forward, shadowy hands resting on the sides of his face, like the feathers of a crow.

"**You wouldn't have to deal with the inferiority anymore, you wouldn't hurt your friends and family. I know you don't want that," **it hissed, seductively. "**And you could still save him."**

Harry bit his lip.

"How would we do it?" he asked, mouth dry, voice barely above a breath. "Note, I haven't agreed yet. I will need some time to think it through."

"How does a Dementor take a soul?" Marvolo murmured, red eyes glinting, all Harry could see, as the Horcrux leaned closer towards him, ice-breath on his skin, words softly spoken against his mouth.

He tried to move back, but shadows kept his head in place like bands of onyx.

"With a kiss."

And the wards on the room shattered.

* * *

Harry's emotions were still going haywire, buzzing in his mind like killer wasps.

That wasn't enough to make him pay attention, so much as the content of those emotions.

Guilt.

Fear.

Uncertainty.

Determination.

Horror.

Disgust.

Loathing.

Hope.

Triumph.

All the things to make him snap to attention.

Harry was about to do something very stupid.

He'd cut Abraxas off mid sentence, quickly searched the room to see if Lestrange was missing (he wasn't) before stalking out.

Hunting.

He arrived at a warded door.

* * *

The next second Marvolo was gone, so fast, in the blink of an eye, rattling back into his Locket.

The wards were about to fall, and the locket was flying across to him, looping around Harry's neck on its own accord.

Cottoning on, he quickly tucked it under his shirt, wincing at how clearly the gold would be seen if his collar shifted, but not having the time to rectify that as the door burst open, and Tom strode in.

Harry held his breath, forcing his expression into one of puzzlement. He eyed the other's wand.

"Er…most people would knock?" he said, adding a bit of teasing to his tone.

Tom stalked over to him, regarding him intently.

"Your emotions were going haywire. It was giving me a headache…what are you doing?"

Oh crap.

"Training," he lied smoothly. "Why? I apologise for the headache by the way - now you know how I feel - I didn't interrupt you from anything, did I?"

He started to move past, only for ivory fingers to shoot out, catching hold of the chain around his next, yanking him to a strangled halt.

Double crap.

"Tom-" then he paused, his head tilting, his eyes widening.

Tom was holding the Horcrux. He was touching it. He was able to hold it.

Tom stopped at his expression, before realising what he was doing himself.

Violet eyes widened slightly in mirror, barely noticeably, before Tom's expression shuttered.

"What are you doing with this?"

"Nothing," Harry said, heart beating frantically. "I'm holding onto it like you asked me to."

"You have no training golems out, like you normally do," Tom continued quietly, piercing him with a stare. Harry shrugged again, seemingly nonchalant.

"I'm trying something new…you going to keep near strangling me?" he questioned, arching his brows.

"Take off the locket," Tom said. "I'll have it back now, seeing as I appear to be able to touch it."

Harry swallowed. Damn it.

He needed to talk to Marvolo - he hadn't even explained how to save Ginny yet! But he couldn't _refuse_ to do it, without looking incredibly suspicious.

It burned reassuringly, mockingly, in his hands, as he slid it off from around his neck, dropping it into Tom's outstretched hand.

Tom continued to appraise him, even as he dropped the locket around his own neck, he never broke eye contact.

Harry kept his expression as even as he possibly could, resisting the urge to hold his breath, even as his mind buzzed and raced with the new information.

Tom tilted his head, indicating that he should follow him out.

"You can show me this new style of training," the Slytherin Heir said lightly. "It must be something to make your emotions go so wild…"

Damn it.

"I'm going to go read some of Dumbledore's books actually," Harry excused himself. "Another time? I must have pulled you from the middle of something."

"About that," Tom said, his voice growing even more dangerous. "What exactly did you concede to get him to help you out?"

Harry simply glanced at the other, flatly. Tom's eyes narrowed, and he pulled him to a halt.

"I could legilimise you," the young Dark Lord warned. "You haven't had any Occlumency practise today."

Harry rolled his eyes outwardly, inwardly, he panicked. Tom couldn't read his mind now, not when it was so full of his conversation with Marvolo.

"I made a deal with him that was beneficial for both of us…my Slytherin Side and all that; be proud."

"What was the deal?" Tom questioned, not sounding in the slightest bit amused or pleased. Harry looked away, debating silently for a moment.

It was better if Tom found out about this deal than if he found out about Marvolo.

"He helps me out this year, with whatever I need in regards to trying to stop you becoming Voldemort - when the clock hits zero, if I fail, I've agreed to do things his way."

Tom's jaw tightened.

"And how binding was this?" he questioned, coolly. Harry started walking again.

"Unbreakable."

How difficult would it be to steal Marvolo back off Tom?  
God, he was screwed.

* * *

A/N: Doesn't seem like the most awesome 100th chapter. It was very hard to write. :/ But thank you so much for the reviews! I'm on 2000! I never thought I'd even get to 1000! You guys are amazing. Thank you for sticking with this story, I'm flattered...and feel like a letdown.

Well, to pacify you...

Reward: mixed reactions to the slash, so I decided to do two, because I'm fully aware I have non Slash-liking readers, and frankly, I like Non Slash. Besides, I'm celebrating a double after all…the slashy one which includes a drunk Tom and an either sober or drunk Harry (place your vote) and start giving requests for the non slash reward =) By the way, warning to slash people...my slash isn't the best slash. Just saying. But i'll do my best.


	102. Chapter 101

Still not slash...

Chapter 101:

Sirius' Trial loomed until suddenly it was the night before, and Harry's stomach was twisting.

Sirius hadn't wrote to him in a while, they hadn't been able to write properly due to the Ministry and their sudden pre-hearing surge of attention.

He hadn't managed to steal Marvolo back yet, and Ginny was looking positively waxen, and if he cared to examine her eyes when they glared at him, they were filled with plea, fear and desperation.

He couldn't help but wonder if the old Ginny was locked inside there somewhere, screaming. He really needed to talk to that locket, but Tom hadn't taken it off since he'd got it, and those dark eyes were constantly alert and watchful.

He couldn't help but wonder if Tom suspected something.

Roger's master plan that wasn't such a great master plan after all was floating him about in his head, because his gut was urging him to pull a similar stunt, spurred by the same sense of tunnel vision, paranoia and panic.

He bit his lip, staring blankly at the homework in front of him - an essay on Snarglepuffs from Herbology. He honestly couldn't bring himself to care about Snarglepuffs right now, too jumpy, too…he stood up, agitatedly, tossing the sheets of parchment down onto a table with irritated fury, pacing.

He paused when he noticed he'd attracted attention from the rest of the Slytherins.

Tom arched a brow at him.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, eyes catching the locket almost instinctively.

Tom twirled his fingers through the chain, appearing careless, but his gaze was too intent, too challenging. Harry looked away again. Tom had been coolly pissed off with him since he'd found out about the Unbreakable vow, but he hadn't backed off and sulked, not in the slightest. Harry hadn't quite figured if that was a good thing or not, and didn't have the time to analyse it further with his plans to Get Marvolo.

So far, he couldn't see how he was going to manage it without an actual confrontation, and that was something he'd prefer to avoid.

"Is it the trial?" Zevi asked, worriedly. Harry shrugged.

"It'll go fine," Abraxas dismissed. "If you want, I can put in a good word for you with the Wizenemagot - us Malfoy's have a lot of influence."

"Thanks," Harry said softly, touched despite the arrogant tone, for he knew the blonde meant it. "But that's okay…maybe if things go badly."

"It won't," Alphard snapped, tetchily. "He's a Black. The law should be on his side, and it's criminal that he was sentenced without trial. They'll be bending over backwards just to stop us from pressing charges. The Blacks are still a powerful family too."

Harry smiled, weakly, talk of the trial was nauseating his stomach.

What if it did go wrong? Something was bound to go wrong, wasn't it? This was a good thing happening in his life, something would inevitably spoil his chances of happiness. He was happy now, largely, inexplicably, when he just hanging out with Tom, without all the drama like when they'd just been having that dinner in Little Hangleton, but that wasn't going to last either.

He was painfully aware that time was slipping away through his fingers, and that Voldemort was only defining himself with every grain of sand that fell, even though there was also progress.

Tom could hold the Horcrux, so he was clearly having an effect….but…in a way that just made it _worse_, knowing how things could be different and knowing that Tom seemed set to become Voldemort anyway, and reverse everything.

Maybe that was why he needed the remembrall. He didn't know, and he didn't want to think about it. The worst part was that he w

asn't allowed to attend - the trial, and god, his thoughst were a mess! - he'd sent his memories off, and now could do nothing but wait for the results to come through.

It was maddening; and only served to increase his feverish desire to do something productive.

Like get Marvolo back.

It was clear from observation, and Pansy, that there was no good time to _steal_ the locket…and he really wanted it back.

Ginny wasn't going to last much longer and…and he just wanted it back. His fingers were itching for his its weight and the reassuring hum of the Horcrux around his neck.

He was, somewhere in the back of his mind, fully aware that this was really not a good thing, this…withdrawal. Nonetheless. He was drawn to it, and he wanted it back.

Even if it was Tom's…didn't he technically have more claim to it than Tom anyway? He was the one that shared a part of the same soul, Tom didn't if he could hold it.

He would do it tonight.

A couple of days was long enough.

* * *

Zevi watched as Harry disappeared, still completely restless but oddly calm, into the Dorm.

His lord's gaze followed the retreating figure, thoughtful. Zevi's stomach churned.

"He's up to something," Abraxas murmured, with a sneaky, affirming glance at Tom.

Tom didn't respond to that, confirming that he probably thought it true, and there was a deadly edge to his aura that skimmed across all of their bare skin like the flat side of a knife, liable to flip to wound in under a second.

Yes, Harry was up to something, and it seemed Tom had some idea of what it could be about, and wasn't even remotely happy about it.

This wasn't going to be pretty.

"He could just be worried about his Godfather," Alphard said tersely. "Stop stirring, you're as bad as Lestrange."

What once may have been a mild, vaguely humorous jab was now a biting insult, coloured by Tom's distaste and disfavour of the brunette, and Abraxas restrained a flinch.

"What do you think, my lord?" Zevi asked, quietly.

Tom looked at him, gaze seeming to pierce right through to his soul, though he kept impassive, before feeling that old mix of disappointment and relief when those eyes released him from their hold.

The next second, the Slytherin heir had rose to his feet, smoothly, and headed towards the dorm room.

An awkward silence followed.

"I really hate it when they do that," Alphard muttered.

Abraxas glanced across the room, and without checking, Zevi knew he'd looked over to his grandson.

"Just leave them to it, they normally seem capable of working things out," the blonde said.

"I know," Alphard said, with a slight playful whine. "But I wish I could watch them when they do - don't you feel like we only ever get half the story? And miss all the good bits that make them so intense around each other! Can you just imagine what they're like when they're alone!"

"Alphard…" Abraxas warned, disapprovingly.

"What!" Alphard said defensively. "Don't say you've never thought it…do you remember that time we accidentally walked in on them in the middle of arguing?"

"Oh for god's sake…"

"You're such a gossipy old woman, Black!"

* * *

Harry's eyes shot to the locket when Tom dropped it on his bed, telling Harry to 'keep an eye on it' as he headed to the ensuite bathroom.

Harry froze, wary.

Tom was testing him, he had to be…but it was just so perfect a chance.

He could take Marvolo and _run_.

He nodded back at Tom, absently, filling those dark eyes on his face for a moment.

He waited, a minute, wondering if Tom was going to come bursting out like someone in a film.

When nothing happened, he cautiously approached Tom's bed, picking up the Horcrux. It gave a pleasing hum, and he smiled softly.

Time to sort this out.

He turned around to quickly leave, though he could hear water running in the bathroom, and almost had a heart attack.

Tom was leaning against the bathroom door, arms folded, watching him.

"More training, Golden Boy?" he questioned, dangerously.

* * *

A/N: Urgh. Writer's Block. Urgh Bad writing. Urgh Horrible update. Urgh Stress. So MUCH stress in my life.

Yay your awesome reviews! I've made a start on the slashy reward (but I'm blocked on that idea, any ideas to expand on DrunkTom and SoberHarry?) and still need an idea for the non slash reward. I apologise if they don't stack up evenly, slash is very difficult for me, but I shall humbly make another attempt.

PS: Can I ask a massive favour? On my FF profile, there's a link to my original writing (poetry) on a site called Writers Network. If any of you are at loss for what to do and have some free time, could you please take a look and tell me your favourites? I need to put together a portfolio for my uni of choice applications….quickly, and to highest quality. I'd love you forever, and be willing to add more rewards on! 

Next chapter should be much better, I actually have it vaguely planned in my head….I promise.

I feel like such a failure. :( This chapter just didn't want to jazz.

Feel free to flame away! With a flame thrower!


	103. Chapter 102

Chapter 102:

Harry's heart was thudding wildly in his chest, a hammer and nails rhythm, and his fingers closed tighter around the golden Horcrux

"Something like that," he agreed warily. Tom's eyes narrowed, his walk forward measured and deadly. Harry backed up, circling, hopefully in the direction of the door. Tom stopped again, and held out a hand.

"Give it to me," the Slytherin Heir ordered, softly. Mutely, Harry shook his head, muscles coiled for fight or flight. "_Now."_

"I'm sorry," Harry murmured. "But you can't have it. I need him."

"Need _him_?" Tom repeated, delicately. "And pray, tell, what do you need _him_ for?"

Harry was silent, stubbornly so. He knew Tom was expecting a confrontation, for him to evade like he normally did, but essentially and resolutely stand his ground. Tom stared at him, darkly.

"Harry," Tom continued, voice somehow becoming even more dangerous, and even more soft. "The locket is clouding your judgement…can't you see that? _My_ Harry wouldn't be so stupid as to fall for so obvious as an enticement and trap…you knew perfectly well that I wasn't going to let it out of my sight."

"Maybe you just didn't know me as well as you thought you did," Harry suggested, carefully, cautious not to glance at his chance of escape.

Tom was expecting a fight…

"Clearly not-"

…so he ran instead.

* * *

Draco's head shot up as the door to the fifth year dorm slammed open, violently, a blur of motion darting out of it, a wand sending tables and chairs flying behind the movement.

Harry was tearing to the door.

Barely a second later, there was another blur, exuding danger, taking chase with the lethal grace of a panther, things flying out the way.

Everyone was frozen, instantly silent, eyes snapping to the common room exit where snakes were coming alive, ready to block anyone from leaving…and…and Harry had leapt over them, out into the corridor, not looking back, a glint of gold in his hand, sprinting.

The young Dark Lord didn't spare his gob-smacked audience so much as a glance, hot on the heels of his prey.

It lasted only a few seconds.

But it felt like a lifetime.

"Oh _shit_…"

* * *

Harry's adrenaline was racing through his body, spurring him on.

There was only the clatter of two sets of footsteps against the otherwise silent castle, suddenly seeming so alien despite its familiarity.

His breathing was ragged as he skidded around a corner, daring not to look back, fully aware of the tail he had, and knowing he had to do anything he could to lose it.

He couldn't hide, Tom could track him down in seconds - especially since he was also holding the Horcrux - and though he was a faster runner than Tom, Tom was by no means lagging and was keeping him quite clearly in sight.

He didn't stop, racing across the classroom, hightailing it out of the dungeons, where every snake on the wall was an enemy set to ensnare him.

He was a Parselmouth.

Tom was the Slytherin Heir.

He dived for another corridor, a curse narrowly missing him. Tom was also a deadly shot.: should have played for beater, if he didn't think Quidditch was a total waste of time.

Almost there…Harry skidded to avoid crashing into a wall, frantically manoeuvring a tight, _dark_ corridor…and the next second hands had closed around his shoulders, but he was shaking off the grip, running again, shoving Tom back, wildly, not looking to see what damage he had done before he was running again…only to scream in agony as his right knee shattered beneath him, sending him buckling to the ground.

He was thrashing, but this time the grip was relentless, and a wand pressed painfully into the side of his head. He could feel breath against his skin, just as harsh and gasping as his own, and then whispered words.

"_**Stupefy."**_

* * *

When Harry woke up, his leg throbbed, and his arms ached…and bloody hell, he couldn't move. He lifted his head, warily, instantly alert and squinting as his vision cleared.

Tom swam into view, standing in front of him, dangling the locket mockingly in front of his face. There was nothing mocking in his gaze. Harry's took in his surroundings - an abandoned classroom by the looks of things, and heavily warded, and…

"You tied me to a chair?" he questioned weakly, disbelieving.

"You ran away," Tom said, uncaring, eyeing him like he was some creature he was experimenting on. "I'd rather you didn't try again." Harry swallowed.

"Untie me," he ordered, tersely, heart pounding, eyes flicking to the locket still inches out of his grip.

"Well," Tom said, his magic utterly devoid of the carelessness he spoke with, "I could. But you know…it's rather amusing to see you so completely helpless. I dare say it's the sadistic streak."

Harry sucked in a sharp breath.

"Tom-" he began.

"-**Start explaining,**" Tom hissed, commanding, stock still, regarding the locket he twirled through his fingers instead of him. Harry clenched his jaw, fuming at his own inadequacies and failures.

He looked away, dismissively, knowing the Slytherin Heir would sense the lack of intent attention and be infuriated by it. Strong fingers gripped his jaw, almost immediately, and Salazar, Harry wished he could edge back… but he wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction.

"Tell me," Tom all but purred, "and we can skip the part where I force it out of you."

"Oh but I wouldn't want to deprive that sadistic streak of yours," Harry returned sweetly.

Tom regarded him for a moment, before shrugging, pulling out his wand. Harry stiffened despite himself, corded with tension, jerking his head away.

Tom tapped the wand against his chest, so lightly, but so very menacingly. He couldn't help but praying someone, anyone, even Snape, would walk in.

"How do we do this then?" the young Dark Lord murmured. "I could torture you, but that would hardly work…it might be fun though."

Harry jutted his chin out, holding Tom's gaze, not saying a word. Tom smiled slightly, but it wasn't a nice smile.

The wand tip played with his collar, sweeping it aside, lazily, and Harry held his breath, unable to look away now even if he wanted to. He knew Tom was doing it to unnerve him, but it was _working._ Then, to his utmost relief, the wand trailed a path upwards, across his lips and settling on his temple.

"Or," Tom continued, with a silkiness that jarred with the situation, "I could take your defiant little mind apart with Legilimency, what do you think of that option, darling?"

"You're going to have to," Harry dared, as evenly as he could. Tom studied him for a moment longer, and then spoke, not releasing his gaze.

**"Open."**

Black smoke issued almost instantly from the Horcrux, forming that becoming-familiar figure. Marvolo. Red eyes surveyed the scene with the preciseness of a viper analysing its pretty.

They stopped on Harry, taking in his position, before glittering as Marvolo turned to Tom, a smirk in his voice.

"Isn't this a pretty picture," it said.

Harry's eyes narrowed, but Tom simply stared back dispassionately.

"Tell me what's going on between you and Harry," Tom commanded, coldly. Marvolo was silent for a moment.

"It's all fun and games with you, isn't it?" it deadpanned, sarcastically.

"That was an _order_," Tom said, tightly. Marvolo's eyes had hardened, but still retained that cruel gleam.

"Business propositions - it's all work and no play with our esteemed Golden Boy, have you ever noticed that?"

Marvolo circled the chair, leaving Harry to feel torn over which one of them to keep his attention on; he went for Marvolo as he was standing behind him. Shadowy, but alarmingly solid, hands rested on his shoulders.

"We could always share him, I get weekends-"

Harry felt his temper crackle, and his aura flare with it, causing Marvolo to snatch his hands away as if he'd been electrocuted, even as Tom simultaneously snapped for the Horcrux to

"-get your hands off him."

"Oh _relax_," it drawled. "Honestly, I'm so glad I'm not an adolescent anymore, they're all so sickeningly emotional and you're one of the worst, child."

"I'm not emotional," Tom hissed, "and I most certainly am not a _child._ Now elaborate, or I'll roast you under my wand."

Harry's eyes widened with panic, and Marvolo froze faltering, eyes glaring.

"What do you think makes boy wonder go obsessive?" it returned, coolly. "Not I, humble soul, certainly."Tom shot him a sharp look, to which Harry kept still, once more wishing he had freedom of movement. Marvolo circled once more to stand next to Tom, cupping shadowy hands to stage-whisper mockingly in Tom's ear. "**He's trying to play the hero."**

Tom was rigid, and Marvolo near danced away, and if he were so inclined, Harry was sure he would be cackling. Tom was quiet for a moment.

"The Weasley girl?" he questioned. Marvolo clapped, slowly, derisively, but Tom didn't even glance at the Horcrux. "You're attempting a deal to save her life - what's the deal?"

This time dark eyes did flick to Marvolo, indicating to who Tom was directing his enquiry.

Marvolo's posture, indistinct as it was, barely leashed violence and rage at the forced submissiveness of survival instincts.

Tom was in control in this room, and both Harry and Marvolo were aware of it, so avoided clashing gazes.

"I tell him how to fix her, and he helps me return to my body."

Tom was silent, and then his wand lifted - and Harry guessed he was about to burn the Horcrux with Fiendfyre-

"No!" he said, quickly. "Don't! I'll talk to you. Just don't kill him. Please.

"He could feel both Marvolo and Tom staring at him.

"Why the sudden appreciation for Horcruxes?" Tom questioned, still in that casual, deadly tone of voice.

"I still have need of him," Harry said evenly.

"Tell him how to fix the girl," Tom ordered, irritably.

This time, Marvolo didn't speak, but stared at Harry - words clear in his eyes. He obeyed Tom because Tom would kill him if he didn't, so he had no obligation now to speak and tell Harry anything.

And yeah, Ginny would be okay…but…he'd never be able to put Voldemort together, or have someone else do so…Marvolo _couldn't_ die.

Marvolo didn't need to be alive for him to save Ginny, but to save Tom - and the compromise to that was Marvolo being alive and telling him the non fatal way of saving Ginny.

"Promise you won't harm Marvolo," Harry said, uncomfortably aware that he didn't exactly have the strongest leverage here.

"_Marvolo_?" Tom questioned. Harry made to shrug, but found he couldn't, ropes cutting into his skin, biting at it his wrists.

"Well, he's not you, and he's not quite Voldemort, and I needed some kind of name for I-him."

Tom did not look impressed.

"And you chose Marvolo?"

"As opposed to what…?" Harry replied, dryly, "he-who-must-not-be-named? It's a bit of a mouthful. Regardless, promise you won't harm him."

Tom rested a hand on one of the arms of the chair, and Harry barely caught himself from shifting.

"And why would I do that?"

"Because I'm asking you nicely…?" Harry offered, smiling brightly. "And friends do nice things for each other."

"We must be some friends for you to be tied up in a chair for my amusement," Tom replied. Harry stared at him, confused, utterly confused.

Tom smirked, dangerously, before the smirk vanished.

"Try again hero." Harry bit his lip, before staring back intently, trying to silently relay his message, and hoping Tom would comply and get it.

Tom normally understood him well enough, though his happiness with that varied on a situational basis. Tom straightened, pointing his wand at Marvolo, who in seconds had disappeared back into the locket, shooting Harry a penetrating expression Tom directed his wand at the Golden Horcrux instead, and Harry flinched, but couldn';t tear his eyes away.

Tom glanced at him, and simply cast more charms on it - locking and silencing ones. Harry nearly sagged in relief.

Tom folded his arms, and this time there was no room for compromise or evasion. Harry's stomach twisted.

"I was never going to give up my life to bring Marvolo back," he said, quietly. "Whatever your opinion of me, I'm not entirely thick or reckless. If there's no time limit or how on the deal, I have no immediate obligations to him…and…I need him to piece Voldemort back together."

Tom's eyes tightened.

"_**Excuse me?"**_he hissed.

Harry sat up straighter, as straight as he could, leaning forwards with engagement.

"The Horcruxes, if we put them back into Voldemort then-"

"Then what?" Tom questioned sharply. "I wouldn't allow you to do it."

"Why not?" Harry snarled, furious all of a sudden. "You do _want_ a solution to this - tragedy - or whatever, don't you? Because with your attitude sometimes I'm not sure!"

"Of course I do," Tom spat. "But I don't believe a solution with my criteria is possible, even for you to pull off."

"Then why are you here?" Harry demanded, and Tom went absolutely silent, barely even seeming to breathe.

"If you think everything to do with our history and our _fate_ is doomed why are you even bothering with this? The sadistic streak?"

"God damn it Harry-"

"-You could at least _help_ me try and do something about this, instead of just watching as if you don't even _care!"_

"I won't let you do it because I _care_, as you put it Potter," Tom snapped. "Putting Voldemort back together, which may not even be possible as I don't really have all that big a capacity for remorse, would involve taking the Horcrux around your mind…the Horcrux, which your child's mind _developed_ around…" Tom clenched his jaw. "You do realise that removing that Horcrux would rip your mind to shreds? You'd have the mental age of one year old if it wasn't done properly!"

"Then teach me how to do it properly," Harry challenged, livid. "We both know you're not the coward who will roll over and accept this when you have the possibility of doing something about it!"

"When I have the _possibility_ of doing something about it," Tom repeated, terribly soft. "I'm out of possibilities."

There was a moment of ravaged silence, broken only by their breathing.

Tom hooked the locket around Harry's neck, pointing a wand to have the ropes release him.

"Don't do anything stupid. I will know, and kill him," the Slytherin Heir murmured, before turning and striding away. Harry swallowed.

"You're better than surrender, Tom…"

* * *

A/N: So. Um. Yeah. Hope that wasn't too bad and that you enjoyed it. 

Does anyone know what happened to Eos?

Thanks for the reviews! You are amazing…still trying to write the reward…and the portfolio…

STILL NOT. AND NEVER WILL BE SLASH! They might tease, specifically Tom, but they're not going to start kissing or having a romantic relationship of any sort. Maybe that ruins it, and you're free to view it how you like because in all honestly I don't see either of them seriously dating in the middle of all their issues, but yeah, for me, this isn't a slash story...


	104. Chapter 103

Chapter 103:

When Harry was sure that Tom was gone, he looked carefully down at his knee.

He knew it was a sign of Tom's utter rage and annoyance with his actions that the other had just left him with a shattered knee cap.

As odd as it sounded, especially considering this was the teenage Dark Lord, Tom did seem to have got in the habit of fixing up his injuries, or making sure they were tended to.

He winced. It was the fingers all over again.

His knee had swollen to like double its normal size, and was all purple and blotchy. That was going to hurt for a couple of days, even when he fixed it.

He directed his wand at it, muttering the right healing spell, before sagging back into the chair, panting with his eyes squeezed shut.

It would have been easier to just remove the bones a la Lockhart, and then skele-gro them back, and probably less painful, but…that would require going to the Hospital wing. So, on the first spell he just fixed the bone pieces back together. The second spell, which he wasn't looking forward to casting, would force the oddly fixed bones back into the right shape.

He gritted his teeth, vainly trying to ready himself, holding onto an arm of the chair in a white-knuckled grip. The locket heating around his neck, but he ignored it, aiming his wand at his knee again.

Ow. He hissed despite himself, pretty sure the arm of the chair was going to splinter with the pressure he was putting on it.

After a minute, a painful minute, he breathed again, and warily bent his leg to see if the spell had worked properly.

It had, with nothing but the lingering ache of a ton of bruises. He would have to get some bruise balm for that before his next Quidditch practise.

The Horcrux burned, and this time he hissed an irritable **"open.**"

Marvolo appeared before him, red eyes surveying him intently. Harry cautiously tested his weight, ignoring the shadow. He almost buckled when he stood - pins and needles!

A hand shot out, catching his stumble forwards, and his gaze dart up. Marvolo didn't remove his grip, still studying him.

"I can walk fine," Harry muttered, cheeks heating, shoving the other's hand off. "You still need to tell me how to save Ginny by the way, I saved your life, you owe me."

"I owe you nothing, it's the best case scenario for both of us if you want to play Patchwork people," Marvolo drawled. "Sneaky of you to try though. Clearly, you've spent too much time around us."

"You appear far more cheerful with my company," Harry noted, suspiciously. "Is the sight of me in pain that amusing to your normally dour countenance?"

Marvolo, laughed, with that coldness still present.

"Yes, your pain is highly amusing to me, but no, I gain nothing currently from driving you to ignore me. I'm stuck with you as my only company it seems, and I would prefer not to spend my existence in boredom with no one to talk to."

Harry blinked, something in the phrasing catching him. Maybe the stuck?

"How old are you?" he asked, suddenly, causing the other's eyes to narrow. "Like, when you were made?"

It stared at him for a moment.

"Why do you want to know?" it questioned. "And what do I get in return?"

Harry bit down on his frustration.

"Conversation," he sneered, aware that he should probably be heading back to the Common Room, but he still had something he needed from the Horcrux.

Red eyes flashed, furiously, before cooling.

"Twenty two," Marvolo stated.

Harry could feel that old curiosity swelling in his chest, and mentally cursed himself.

"How come you look like a shadow? I mean…you've been, er, draining Ginny so shouldn't you have changed?"

In an instant, the shadow before him morphed into something that made Harry take two steps back in utter shock.

It was an older Tom, still bloody eyed, and unhealthily pale with hollowed cheeks and a waxy sheen to his skin, like a blurred photograph…but, it…he looked human. The hair was the same, as was the posture.

Harry's eyes widened. He swallowed.

"How come you normally look like a shadow then?" he asked shakily.

Marvolo favoured him with a very Tom-ish "stupid question" expression, but it was defined harder and crueller around the edges.

"It takes less energy."

Harry stared openly.

Somehow, it was difficult to hate Marvolo as intensely in this more humanoid form, just like he hadn't been able to hate Tom. Marvolo was studying him once more, a taunting, dangerous smirk on his lips.

"I doubt Tom would appreciate you checking me out so obviously." Harry spluttered, looking away.

"I'm not! For Salazar's Sake what is _wrong_ with you!"

Marvolo was silent for a moment, still smirking.

"…touchy subject?"

Harry's aura flared with annoyance.

"You need to stop draining Ginny," he said, instead, clipped.

"Bless you, little boy, trying to give me orders. You lost your deal…I dare say you sacrificing your life energy would no doubt make Tom burn me alive, if his reaction is anything to go by, and thanks to you he's expecting it now, so I wouldn't be able to escape like I intended to initially."

"Then we can make a new deal," Harry said tightly, reigning in his desperation, and irritation. Seriously, the older Tom was now commenting on the whole dating thing? He supposed they both had the same twisted humour.

"One that fit's the new situation and criteria. You can't have a body right now…but you don't have to be shut up in the locket without any contact all the time. Release Ginny, tell me how to save her, and I will let you out every once in a while, and talk with you all you want," he continued.

It was a harsh offer, and a brutal manipulation as Marvolo had pretty much admitted to his desire to avoid the isolation of the Locket.

Yet…

"Let me out every day, and talk to me for at least an hour and you have a deal."

There was a gleam in those eyes that warned him of the Horcrux's knowledge of his manipulation, and the promise of its own schemes and plans.

It was a tough bargain, and Harry carefully showed no expression.

"Deal. Now, tell me how to save her?"

* * *

Severus Snape dropped his eyes, falling to his knees before the snake-like figure on the throne before him.

Times like these contrasted to him, even more strongly, of having the young Dark Lord in his Potions Classroom, and with the Potter spawn at that.

He kept his features impassive with the skill of a lifetime of masks, his façade so deeply ingrained that it had settled to be his skin.

"Rise, Severus…" came the silky, dangerous voice.

He steeled himself, and met that crimson gaze, which assessed him guardedly.

"My lord," he murmured, in response, self-loathing at this submissiveness and betrayal of pride long since squashed by the repressive hands of self-preservation and survival.

"What do you think of them?" the question came abruptly, coolly, coloured by a cool disinterest. He knew who 'them' was instinctively, and shuddered, knowing he would have to tread exceedingly carefully.

"Potter and Riddle?" he verified, not letting his tone show his unease.

The Dark Lord inclined his serpentine features in acknowledgement. He didn't know why this pathway of conversation unnerved him so, or surprised him, he should have expected his lord to pursue it eventually.

"Potter is an arrogant spawn of his father," he started with the easier, the Dark Court fully aware of his hatred of the elder. "Largely mediocre as always, but admittedly with a new level of confidence."

A new level of magical talent too, a shockingly Slytherin side to his personality and a disconcerting lack of hatred for everything stereotypically non Gryffindor.

And wit.

He had the tongue of Lily Evans.

But he was still a Potter through and through!

Brash and cocky, even more disrespectful and unruly, reckless and prone to get himself killed! Nothing like his sweet Lily.

He couldn't be.

He clamped down his thoughts.

"Riddle is brilliant in all of his classes-"

"-I'm fully aware of their individual characteristics," the Dark Lord cut in, coldly, tersely. "That is not what I was asking."

Severus' mouth ran dry. What do you think of _them_? Them as a together, the relationship.

Stupid.

"Forgive me, my lord," he murmured, knowing he could evade no longer. "They appear rather…" he resisted the urge to clear his throat, mind flashing to scenes he'd much rather forget. "intimate….intense. They evidently share a lot of passion."

He didn't sign up for this conversation!

The Dark Lord's eyes didn't leave his face, pressing for more, more details than the minimalist outlines he liked to offer.

"They…revolve around each other, utterly fixated to the extent that many would consider their deep involvements with each other to be emotionally and physically harmful."

He glanced at the red eyes, vainly trying to gauge the hidden intentions he saw there.

"They…_flirt_ and bicker constantly, and always seem to be dealing with underlying issues that they keep private even from their closest associates, but appear to enjoy each others company regardless."

"Flirt?" the Dark Lord demanded.

He would have preferred a Cruciatus to this, and the Dark Lord suddenly seemed in the mood to give it too.

"Touch each other, tease…I believe Riddle is in the habit of calling Mr Potter 'sweetheart' or 'darling.'" It took his every effort not to mumble the last.

The Dark Lord's eyes cleared, with a horrible laugh, cold.

"You sound almost as if you believe them to be lovers."

He could feel the danger in the cutting razor's of his lord's aura, and wanted nothing more than to apparate and nurse a brandy somewhere away from the rest of the world.

"I believe many lovers would be…envious of their relationship."

"They're not!" the Dark Lord's tone was final, unyielding, a hiss of sudden anger.

There was a pause, wherein the Dark lord studied him, something suggesting he was seeing something more than what was being offered.

"Do they seem happy?"

The Potion's Master barely retained his shock, choking on the unexpectedness of the question. It was a traditionally caring question, but the tone was clinical. Severus mentally pursed his lips.

"Yes."

The Dark Lord nodded, thoughts hidden in his cloaked demeanour.

"Keep me updated on them, Severus. You may leave."

He needed a drink.

* * *

The next day, Harry was unusually restless and jittery, casting tempus charms nearly every minute and spending the time he wasn't checking the time glancing over at the Gryffindor table with a resolute expression on his face.

He exchanged a few words with their Lord, but was largely silent.

Zevi guessed that it was due to his Godfather's trial, and whatever the commotion last night had been about.

Certainly, for anyone who had invested such time to study of the 'Slytherin Duo' as he, it was clear to see that things were strained between the two of them, and the tension if they're gazes were so thick that anyone stuck in the crossfire was bound to get smothered and drowned in it.

Alphard seemed a little worried too, and stared at Harry's summoned clock as often as Harry did, though he refrained from casting the tempus charm himself.

Another significant change was that the Locket, _Slytherin's_ Locket, that had once nestled discreetly around his Lord's neck, now hung around Harry's.

He really wanted to know what had happened for such a change to occur, but was once more left to mull over his discontented theories and unsatisfied desires for more than scraps of information.

He only wished that, some day, he would be privilege to the whole tale, because, tragedy or happy ending, he was sure that it would be epic.

As breakfast ended, the doors to the Great Hall swung open, framing the figure of a man.

Sirius Black.

And he was smiling.

* * *

A/N: So, erm. Okay chapter? Thank you SO much for the reviews to the last, I'm glad you enjoyed it so.

I felt so awkward writing the line "He only wished that, some day, he would be privilege to the whole tale, because, tragedy or happy ending, he was sure that it would be epic" haha, it sounds so arrogant to label my own invented story as epic. Note. Zevi's opinion not mine, and I dare say the epicness would vary on the storyteller :P


	105. Chapter 104

Chapter 104:

"Sirius!" Harry was out of his feet in a shot, rushing across the hall, not caring who saw him, or about the whispers that darted across the halls in tones of confusion and fear.

His Godfather hugged him tightly, and for a moment Harry savoured it, before pulling back.

"You're free? You're really free? What happened? What's going to happen to Wormtail? Are the ministry-"

"Harry," Sirius laughed, squeezing his shoulders, eyes crinkled with warmth. "Give me time to answer, kiddo. Yes, I'm free. The Ministry had no valid evidence to put me back in Azkaban with, and no trial either. It's a right mess. The rat will receive a Dementor's Kiss first thing in the morning."

Something flickered in the older man's eye at that, a pained mixture of hatred and…sympathy?

They'd been friends once.

No matter what had happened. They had been friends once, and that _hurt._

Harry could relate so well to that.

He held on a little tighter, not knowing how else to show support.

"He's Sirius Black!" a Hufflepuff boy whimpered. "Why are you talking to him?"

And they began the long explanation.

* * *

Voldemort paced up and down the room, agitatedly, Nagini curled up in the corner and watching his movements curiously.

"**You are troubled**," she hissed. He glanced at her. "**Is it because they are…happy?"**

"**If they are happy, then why would I forget it?"** he returned, coolly, jaw clenched. **"It makes no sense, as it would imply that I became as I am to keep Potter and those memories alive…and thus, this…lapse in memory would be redundant."**

"**You believe the greasy-haired one is lying?"** she questioned, uncoiling, fangs bared. He was silent for a moment.

"**He must be… or something goes wrong. **_**Trouble in Paradise**_**…which could alternatively cause me to become as I am just to spite Potter. He doesn't seem all too fond of what he becomes, after all, so the only reason he would become me is pertaining to Potter being as he is…but why can't I remember it? This is supposedly my past and creation, my history. I should know it."**

He spoke softly, not raising his voice, but his words were lined by razor-sharp edges of ice and steel.

"**How could I forget?"**

His Horcrux watched him without response, slits of eyes a golden mirror of his own hate-filled scarlet.

"_**Why would I forget if I was…happy?"**_

He needed to find someone to torture.

* * *

Sirius, about to leave (because apparently there was a hell of a lot to do as a newly free man that couldn't wait), came to a stop before Tom, looking uncomfortable.

"I…I believe I owe you a debt for my freedom," he said, voice neutral, far too neutral for his happy-go lucky Godfather.

Harry froze, and felt Tom's eyes slide to him for a moment, before back to Sirius.

"No," the Slytherin Heir replied. "Your debts are settled."

"You saved my life," Sirius said, swallowing. "Twice."

"And both times I consider those debts to me to be settled. Take it up with your Godson if you feel the wish to pay him back for the concessions he made on your behalf."

Sirius' head snapped around.

"Concessions?" he questioned tightly. Harry silently cursed the young Dark Lord.

"…he didn't tell you about that?" Tom questioned, with a tone of innocence and mild disinterest. "My bad, awkward conversations I guess…sorry sweetheart."

Yeah, Harry was sure he was sorry and disinterested.

Tom didn't slip up - that had been a jab because Tom was still pissed off with him for attempting to steal the Horcrux, however sweetly wrapped it was. They both knew it.

He clenched his jaw, but remained impassive, knowing Tom was watching hungrily for his reaction and move.

"What was the concession?" Sirius demanded.

Harry resisted the urge to widen his eyes guiltily, keeping his face schooled with ease.

"It's nothi-" he began, only to cut short his arm burned.

He heard a hiss and didn't have to look down to know the snake had come alive on his bare arm. Sirius went completely still, staring at it, almost unseeingly, grabbing the offending appendage.

"That's…_what have you done_?" Sirius near hissed, shaking him.

Harry took a step back, hiding any alarm.

"Sirius-"

"-Is this what I think it is?" the older man continued furiously.

"A tattoo? I know you're technically supposed to be eighteen but-"

_"Harry!"_ Sirius snapped, just as the snake flared at his omission.

Right. Tom's birthday present.

He shrugged, helplessly, in response. Sirius' grip tightened for a moment.

"Why?" his Godfather asked, his voice croaky, his eyes shooting Tom a dark look that the other simply raised an eyebrow back, even as the snake melded back to those crescent moon 'nail marks' that had come so familiar an adornment to his skin.

Harry's skin tingled, and he resisted the urge to glance at the one who had created them.

"Why what?" he returned, dully.

"Why would you do something like this-it's not-"

"I'm not going to let the only family I have die," Harry said quietly, guessing the question, meeting Sirius' gaze with iron eyes. "Not when there was even a possibility I could save you."

Sirius looked as if he were about to cry. His new found freedom was probably overwhelming.

"It's not your job to save me, kiddo," he replied, voice almost a whisper, cracked.

Harry's brow furrowed, and he withdrew slightly.

"Of course it is, if I had the resources to save you…are you saying I'd rather not have done it?" A deep hurt pulsated somewhere in his chest. Sirius' hands cupped his face, holding his gaze like he had the first time they met.

Tom shifted.

"I'd rather you didn't pay the price for it," Sirius replied, with a hint of something in his tone, a desperation, a conviction, but Harry didn't understand what why driving.

"I don't understand," he said, annoyed with himself. "The price is nothing. It's not a big deal."

Sirius was silent for a moment, before smiling.

"Do you mind if I talk to Tom for a moment?"

* * *

Tom leaned against the door of the nearby classroom, eyeing the now free man before him with only the vaguest of interests.

"Why did you give him the rat?" the Black lord demanded, rather aggressively if he said so himself. His lips curled slightly.

Bless.

He actually thought he was intimidating, a threat…a player. He was nothing more than a pawn, only significant on Tom's board due to his influence over and relationship with Harry.

"Christmas Present," he said, mildly, noting the man was almost immediately worked up and frustrated at the nonchalant response.

"You're a _Slytherin_, you don't do something if you don't gain from it!" the man spat, with a note of accusation in his tone that was simply absurd.

"Everything everyone does is for the purpose of gaining something," he replied calmly. "I dare say it's not merely a Slytherin trait."

"You bastard-!"

"-Actually, my parents were married…it was quite the scandal."

His eyes gleamed as he interrupted casually, watching a red flush sneak on Black's face.

Harry wouldn't have got worked up so quickly. He would have played back. Given a witty retort. Harry was _challenging_.

Black stared at him, eyes keen with an analysis that almost made him laugh if he were not more capable of controlling his reactions.

Did this ex Convict and Gryffindor, whatever his lineage, truly think that he was any match for _him?_  
How…pathetically quaint.

"Nonetheless," he continued, smoothly, just as the other was about to speak. "I daresay you requested this little chat for reason? I'm a busy man - I suggest you find that reason, and quickly," he instructed.

The man's pupils widened slightly, and he knew instantly what was causing the surprise and disconcertion so easily readable behind the man's efforts of masquerade.

Before, Black had only ever seen him largely around Harry; he had been with Harry in his time at Grimmauld, and playing games just as Harry has deducted the whole time.

He was completely unpredictable to Black, and that _terrified_ the other man because it meant there were thus no predictable courses of action that he would take with Harry.

He, who spent more time around the man's Godson than the man himself he did...

Black's chin jutted out, eyes flashing wildly.

"Why did you allow me to be free? What's the catch?"

But he was not completely thick.

Tom allowed a dangerous smirk to grace his lips as he moved from the door, prowling around the man, watching as he fought between acting unconcerned and spinning to keep an eye on him.

His expression grew more serious, amusement vanished.

"Don't interfere with my dealings with Harry," he said, softly, warningly.

Sirius blinked, practically bristling like the dog he was.

"If you hurt him-"

"You will do nothing," he finished, flatly. "And you won't tell him of this conversation and turn him against me, either."

"What makes you so sure? You can't kill me right now, Harry would know and never forgive you!"

"Because you'd never hurt him," he said, feeling a sense of satisfaction as the man paled.

"What?"

"Honestly, I'm sure I'm not talking so quietly…" he mocked. "You won't tell him because you won't hurt him," he repeated, patronisingly clear and slow.

"I heard what you-" Black began, practically growling.

"And do you know _why_ that means you will never speak of this conversation?" he asked, sweetly. Black stared at him, not responding. "Because, as I'm sure you've noticed, _I'm _the one keeping him together."

He paused to let the blow sink in, the pain was visible on the other's face, in his flinch.

_He_ looked after Harry, not Black…and didn't that just torture the man inside? It was beautiful.

"Perhaps you'd like to fix him next time he's about to shatter?…oh…wait…" he pulled a thoughtful face, cruel pleasures spinning intoxicatingly in his blood stream. "...You're not around. I am."

His gaze hooded.

"Just because he's your Godson, doesn't make him yours. Get in my way and I will _personally_ ensure some tragic fate befalls you."

Menace over, he smiled, disarmingly at the man.

"I was thinking about it, and this really is the best for everyone around," he said, cheerfully. "You're a free man and get to have Harry in your life. Harry never has to go back to those _disgusting_ muggles and gets to have a family. I get to carry on as I am without some little blockhead aiming to inconvenience my goals. Perfect, isn't it? I thought so. There's a good man…was there anything else you wanted to discuss?"

He was pleasantly surprised when, though slumping with defeat, the man still glared back defiantly.

"I won't stand by and watch you hurt him."

"I don't wish to hurt him," he admitted, coolly. "Well…I lie, I have no objection to watching him in pain, it's rather fascinating...but I have no intentions of breaking or killing him."

The man did need some reassurance after all...

He turned to leave, to hear the man practically snarl with his incessant mouth that did NOT stop talking.

"My Godson seems to be of the misconception you are a _friend_ to him, and that you care about him, I don't care if you have the Dementor's kiss me, if you-" the man began his threats, dangerously, sounding every inch like he could commit the murders he was imprisoned for...but Tom would kill far more than thirteen in his life.

He stopped, turning around, his own eyes flashing at the loathing and revulsion in Black's voice, the disbelief, the question.

There was absolutely no question to be asked.

"-It's not his misconception, its yours in over-simplifying and cramming your neat little labels on us. I _am_ his friend, if you want to use that term…but that doesn't mean we're on the same side."

This time, he didn't look back.

* * *

A/N: So, it's been a while. I have been absorbed in school and the enthralling world of Death Note 3 My latest discovery and newest obsession. I love it! And am completely hooked and will be hooked until I have explored that world to my heart's content…but I figured that you're awesome reviews did deserve an update. So here you go. I hope you enjoyed it. 


	106. Chapter 105

Chapter 105:

Sirius could feel his emotions rolling like a tempest-tossed ship in his mind and heart; great gales of confusion and anger - and a consuming helplessness he hadn't felt since the night of Halloween 1980.

He stared at the retreating figure, speechless, before stumbling into action, his legs like jelly. Pain wrapped around his gut.

He was there for Harry! He would help his Godson with whatever whenever Harry asked…but Harry didn't ask him. He asked Tom.

It was only because he couldn't let the emerald-eyed boy see the this that his shoulders didn't slump with the weight of dejection and despair.

He was free, wasn't he? But he wasn't free to do whatever he wanted. He was tied to keep his distance and stand aside whenever that bastard ordered it. He couldn't shake Harry free from the Slytherin Heir.

He was…powerless.

Harry looked between the two of them as they reached him; no doubt wondering what on earth they could possibly have to talk about. His Godson raised two demanding eyebrows when neither of them spoke.

"Your precious Godfather was just attempting to persuade me to remove your concessions and switch payment onto himself," Tom drawled, smoothly, not missing a beat. Harry's jaw tightened, and Riddle smiled lazily. "Relax hero, I refused."

Sirius could scarcely believe how fluidly the _lies_ rolled off the teen's tongue, but Harry wasn't watching Tom now, he was watching Sirius, eyes dark.

"You're lying," Harry stated, with a note of fury, looking back at Riddle again.

The young Dark Lord shrugged, elegantly.

"So sue me, he actually sold me his soul on your behalf. Care to buy it back?" Riddle questioned, with a smirk. Harry's fists clenched, and he _hissed_ something.

Sirius resisted the urge to recoil at so blatant a display of a traditionally dark talent: his Godson wasn't evil! R

iddle's smirk didn't change, except it did, somehow, in a manner he couldn't pinpoint as he hissed something back.

It was bizarre to think of himself as non-existent, as arrogant as it may sound he'd always commanded attention when he was in the vicinity, but for a moment it seemed as if that was exactly what he had become - non existent as the world narrowed down onto the two of them (Riddle and Harry) with an intensity that made any observer feeling like they were intruding.

Sirius swallowed, hard, before beaming brightly because today was such a _happy_ day, wasn't it? He squeezed Harry's shoulder, pulling him into a hug.

"I best be letting you get to lessons. I'll write soon - and feel free to call me on the mirrors anytime," he said, meeting Harry's gaze, wondering if his desperation was visible.

_Call me on the mirrors. Please, please call me on the mirrors. Let me be there for you. _

Harry smiled back, a painful obliviousness infused with an ever more painful confused perceptiveness that spoke that his Godson had picked up on his emotions easily enough, but had no clue as to what he meant by them.

He met Riddle's stare for a moment, and was absently aware of what had been that change in smirk. With him, both eyes and all features including smiles were hard and cold…with Harry they were just a tiny bit softer. There was cruelty there, oh yes, Riddle was full to brim with a beguiling cruelty and charm, but there was also something with Harry that on anyone else may have been termed fondness, or something similar.

Fascination, certainly.

Obsession.

He repressed a shudder.

He needed to find a way to give Harry something or someone more healthy to depend on.

And talk to Alphard.

* * *

Harry would have thought he'd been used to Tom lying to him by now, or that Tom didn't do it quite so much…though he tried to keep it in mind that Tom's words had to be taken with a pinch of salt and a critical assessment.

This simply reminded of how flawlessly Tom could mix lies and truth, and how the Slytherin Heir had no qualms to using emotional manipulation or the like in getting away with it.

He hadn't been able to tell that Tom had been lying, not really, there was just an elusive feeling in his gut because he knew Tom rather well…the only reason he had been so certain of the untruth of the statement was because Sirius wasn't as adept in the art of lying.

Sure, Padfoot was good…he'd probably spent enough time avoiding Detentions to have practised the skill, but he wasn't as immaculate a liar as Harry was, and most definitely not as good as Tom. A psychopath.

Harry had sat down in his lessons, fingers twitching to read his books on Time instead of repeating stuff that he'd done in the past.

There were, of course, differences in the subject matter, theories disproved and discovered, but…school mattered little in consequence to time.

Fate and Luck. He suppressed a sigh.

He hoped Fate suffered eternal torment and stayed away.

He needed to fix Ginny too.

He was dreading it already.

* * *

He pulled Ron and Hermione aside at Lunch time before they could enter the Great Hall, ignoring the way any Slytherins that walked past shot him an odd or nervous look.

He didn't know why, but taking an educated guess it was something to do with Tom. It normally was when the atmosphere and undercurrents of power shifted in Slytherin.

He just didn't know why they were giving him odd looks - he'd asked Pansy.

"I've worked out how to stop Ginny acting so weird," he said, quietly. Hermione's eyes widened, and Ron's features seemed to regain a shine of life that he hadn't realised had gone missing.

"How?" the redhead demanded. "What do we have to do? It won't hurt her will it? Can we do it now-?"

"How did you find out?" Hermione asked.

"One of my many sources," Harry offered, with a smile. Hermione's lips thinned.

"You didn't do anything dangerous, did you Harry?"

"Who cares how he found out!" Ron exclaimed. "We can fix Ginny."

His best friend looked at him expectantly.

"Well, you know we theorised that _it_ was affecting her because of emotional dependency on me…?"

"Yeah."

"We have to break that dependency," he said flatly. Ron nodded, but Hermione's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean by break that dependency?"

"…we have to make her truly hate me and no longer expect me to do anything to help or save her, and kind of make it seem like I never particularly cared about her fate in the chamber either, for good measure."

There was a moment of utter, heavy silence, broken only by the clatter of cutlery and swell of voices in the Great Hall behind them.

"How do we do that?" Hermione questioned, voice suddenly a tad croaky and small.

"Leave it to me," Harry replied. "I just thought I'd give you head's up warning on why I would suddenly start treating her…differently."

He sighed. It shouldn't be too difficult; he'd spent enough time around Tom, and Slytherin, to know how to cut his 'opponents' into shreds with words alone. He just normally refrained. He supposed the 'cruel streak' he apparently had would come in useful here.

"We can tell her you didn't mean it, after, right?" Ron asked, worry creeping into his tone.

"No," Harry said softly. "That would imply that I was only acting horrible to save her, which could reverse the process and then we'd be stuck and she'd _die."_ He swallowed. "She can never know for so long as I'm…like I am."

Ron and Hermione had both turned as pale as ghosts.

* * *

Alphard looked up at the man in front of him.

His Nephew.

Sirius Black.

A Gryffindor.

An Ex Convict.

Harry's _Godfather_.

Time travel was such a mind screw; it's why he normally avoided thinking about this situation too seriously.

It was easier to treat it like some strange game or experiment, and not seek out his future or make attachments.

They were all dead in this time anyway - or they would not be able to be here due to paradox. Tom seemed a little different in that regard, and he wasn't sure why.

"You shouldn't be contacting me," he said, quietly.

"I wanted to thank-"

"No!" he said, abruptly. "Don't thank me something I haven't done yet. I don't want to be influenced." He softened his tone slightly at the haggard looking man, studying him. "You look like me…but you have Orion's eyes."

"Well, you look like Walburga, but less feminine," Sirius said, with a weak grin that attempted brightness. A laugh startled out of him.

"I should hope I don't look like a _girl_….I'll leave that to you, huh?"

"I don't look like a girl!" his Nephew exclaimed, voice indignant and marginally hostile, but eyes glittering with good humour.

He simply arched his brows in response, smirking, before the smirk vanished.

"It was nice meeting you," he said, honestly. "But I shouldn't be talking to you."

"What, did Riddle forbid or something?" Sirius said in a joking, albeit dark tone. He paused on the spot, and the joke faded. "He did forbid you from talking to me…" his Nephew sounded incredulous, furious.

"Not you specifically, but our futures. The less we know the better," he explained.

"And yet Riddle himself pays these rules no regard? Whatever happened to leading by example?"

"Tom is Tom. You'd do well not to speak ill of him around me, it will do you know good and I won't allow it," he said, sharply again. His loyalty was, and always would be, to the Slytherin Heir.

"I'm glad you are free," he continued, more mildly again. "Azkaban does no good for our family, though I can't help but notice how many of us found residence amongst the Dementors." His Nephew's skin whitened at the very name, and his heart twisted. "I hope we meet in the future…the past…in more agreeable circumstances," he said. "I heard you're quite the Prankster. Good day."

He spun on his heel.

"Wait!" A hand grabbed his arm, and he almost jolted at the touch, half fearing he would disappear in a puff or paradox or some timey-wimey thing.. "I need to-"

He knew he wouldn't be able to avoid this conversation. Damn it.

"You want to talk to me about Tom and Harry," he finished, voice forced into uncharacteristic neutrality.

Pranks and humour aside, his parents had instilled Pureblood inheritances and etiquette in well. He knew how to hold a mask to silence thoughts he'd rather not share.

"What do you…think of them? Is Harry going to, please, I can't watch him get hurt," Sirius stared at him, intently, almost pleadingly.

"It's not my place to comment," Alphard said, warily, disentangling himself from the grip, feeling a burning sense of hypocrisy in the back of his mind - he'd commented on it plenty of times.

His Nephew stepped doggedly into his way again.

"From one Black to another," Sirius insisted.

Alphard pressed his lips together anxiously. Tom wouldn't want him to talk about this, but…it wouldn't do that much harm would it? A few, carefully chosen words to reassure the man?

"I think they care about each other, and I that it would do more harm than good to try and forcibly separate them - for them and for the person attempting to split them." He met Sirius' gaze unyieldingly. "Don't get into Tom's way. He will cut you down, and I don't particularly want to see that happen to you, you seem like a good man."

"More harm than good? You mean their…dependency?" His nephew sounded incredibly freaked out, hurt even.

"Picked up on that, have you. Dependency is an odd word for it, because both of them are extremely independent people who are not used to relying on anyone but themselves, and they certainly don't crawl to each for help all the time…but, in a manner of speaking it's an accurate word too. Don't get me wrong, they don't tell each other all their secrets like best friends, it's not that type of dependency, it's-"

"Toxic," the man offered sullenly, helplessly. "Unhealthy. Obsessive."

He glared slightly, but said nothing, recognising there was some level of truth in the word.

"If it eases you at all, whatever they have is utterly mutual. Tom won't discard him…but Harry will never turn Tom away either. I'd take your chips where they fall and be glad Harry is making an effort, however small, to have you in his life. The world narrows on them when they're together, everything else is relegated to secondary and periphery until they are apart again, and that's from only seeing the smallest part of their interactions."

"So you think I should abandon Harry to whatever Riddle's planning," Sirius spat.

Alphard's eyes darkened at the thought of _that_ plan.

"Didn't I just say it was mutual? Tom's not jerking Harry around unwillingly. Nor is your Godson's helpless, he's fully capable of defending himself again Tom, and does so with more skill and success than any other I've ever seen Tom even consider playing with."

"I don't understand…" Sirius near moaned, wild eyed. Alphard sighed.

"It takes two to tango, and their game is not played by Tom alone despite most people's assumptions."

He tipped an imaginary hat, striding away before his Nephew could ask him anything else.

* * *

"Harry," a voice called. Tom. Harry came to a stop, and signalled for Ron and Hermione to go ahead into the Great Hall.

"Hey," he greeted, feeling marginally awkward. His knee throbbed in memory.

Tom's eyes flicked to the Locket around his neck, before away again with a taut jaw-line, before easing.

"Come on, let's go to the Kitchens. I'm craving sugar and you're already too skinny to skip meals, even if it is to talk to me." Harry raised an eyebrow, but followed nonetheless.

"You're craving sugar?"

That was new.

"It happens occasionally, though I'm not all that used to having it. Rations and all that."

Harry blinked, once again hit by the strangeness and the horrified sadness that Tom lived through and in the London Blitz and World War.

He'd never imagined Tom with a sweet tooth, but in an odd way it made perfect sense. Those who had little had more appreciation for the small pleasures of life and it would be very easy to term Tom as having a strong hedonistic side when he wanted to.

They arrived at the kitchens, Dobby serving them as always, babbling about socks and all manner of things, and then paused in their near kitchens abandoned classroom.

Tom was studying several delicate looking chocolates that looked far too expensive to eat, before he popped on in his mouth with a small smile.

Harry took a listless bite out of his duck sandwich. He didn't really have an appetite anymore.

"How's the leg? You fixed it okay?" Tom questioned.

Harry looked up, startled, because there was something in those words that was almost like an apology.  
Tom didn't want to argue with him.

"It's fine," he replied, even if it still ached slightly despite how he had healed it. He studied the other, their last proper conversation ringing in his head. "Marvolo told me how to fix Ginny. I just have to talk to him a bit in return, let him out the Locket to stretch his legs or the soul equivalent."

"And you're not suspicious of his reasoning behind that?"

"I think he's lonely," Harry replied, softly.

"You can't save him." Tom's voice was flat, hard, and Harry's gaze locked onto violet immediately.

Harry couldn't help but wonder how much of this conversation was really about Marvolo.

"I can make sure he never exists like that to be lonely…I can give him life again, even if I take it away when Voldemort dies."

"You can do none of those things," Tom said, equally quiet. "He and you would spontaneously combust into non-existence or you would simply fade away like your own soul had been shredded past attempt and all that's left is a broken husk of the boy you used to be."

Harry swallowed.

"And if I'm breaking already?" he questioned. "I won't watch you become him. I can't. Don't make me. Plea-"

"**Don't**," Tom snapped, harshly, a venomous hiss. Harry flicked his gaze up again. "Don't…plead with me to let you die."

"But you expect me to do just that with you," he returned, no frustration in his voice, nothing. "Voldemort is only you in the loosest of definitions. He's not you in any way that matters. If you're going to become him so _this_ can continue, than it's pointless, because it can't! I hate Voldemort, and I would never forgive you for becoming him, nor myself for standing aside and allowing it."

"Which, again, is why this isn't a fairytale with happy endings," Tom said, bitterly, so very bitterly.

"Then why are you here?" Harry asked, wondering if he was going to get an answer this time. "Might as well face your Fate. Forget me. Take a clean break and don't drag this out."

"Forget you…" Tom murmured. "Why would I forget you? That's what I don't understand."

"Excuse me?" Harry questioned, blinking. Tom glanced at him.

"Voldemort should remember this, and he doesn't appear to, and no one knows how to get past the defences I have against mental tampering and obliviation except for myself. So, I must have chosen to forget. Which makes no sense," Tom explained.

"Alternate Universe," Harry offered promptly. "Which means your safe to not become Voldemort."

"No, that's not it," Tom frowned. "It's something else."

"You can't be certain-"

"-That Alternate Universes don't exist? Read your books Harry, there is only one timeline, and hence, no Alternate Universes."

"You can't know that for sure," Harry insisted, angrily.

"The best minds in the field have decreed it. That's why it's so dangerous to play with time. It can't be re-written, only scratched out completely for a new idea."

"Well, once upon a time the best minds in the field believed that no one could survive the killing curse too."

He'd just had an idea.

* * *

A/N: That may be one of the longest chapters I've ever written. I hope you appreciate it…and oh, I only have about 50ish chapters left of this story. At the most. Possibly. Approximately. By the end of 2012, Fate's Favourite will have had it's last chapter. Quite possibly before then. With an ending that I have yet to reveal but already know =P Thanks for all the reviews, they are fabulous!


	107. Chapter 106

Chapter 106:

"Tom…" he began, slowly, his mind racing.

Tom seemed to have noticed the change in his countenance because, like when Harry was self-assured in Grimmauld, he somehow flipped to an even greater focus and attention in awareness of the shift.

"For the future to happen, Voldemort has to happen, right?" he verified. Tom blinked.

"That's what I've been telling you," he drawled. "Is there a point to that question or are you just extremely slow on the uptake?"

"Yes, there's a point," Harry snapped, mildly. "So someone has to be Voldemort, but…does that person have to be you?" he asked, praying inside his head for the answer he so wanted to hear.

Tom frowned.

"If you're suggesting we take, polyjuice and compel some random wizard off the street to pretend to be me-" he started, dangerously.

"No!" Harry leaned forwards slightly in engagement, his spine bizarrely straightening. "I mean you have to be Voldemort, but…aren't there currently two of you? By your own definition?"

Tom's eyes widened.

"You're suggesting we send Voldemort back in time to be me? Create a time loop?"

"It would work, wouldn't it?" Harry could feel his eyes sparkling, his hopes swelling. "You have the same soul, technically. It could work, and you'd be free to do whatever you want from the point he'd been sent back onwards, because it would all happen regardless."

"He'd never agree to it," Tom stated, but it wasn't flatly, it was thoughtfully.

"No," Harry could feel something click, his thoughts spinning like tornados. "But we don't need his permission either, do we? Maybe that's why he can't remember. It was just your theory, wasn't it, that the remembrall held your memories of this year?" he confirmed. His heart pounded. "Well, what if it's just that, a theory, did you ever actually check? What if it was never _your_ memories but Voldemort's? All the memories of a never ending time loop…so many memories that a remembrall would crack in efforts to contain them?" Harry suggested.

Tom's eyes were distant with contemplation.

Of course, there was one thing the Slytherin Heir wouldn't like about this plan, but if Harry just didn't tell him about it…Tom was studying him now, a cautious gleam in his gaze, a hope, a wired tension in his shoulders.

"Voldemort's nothing like me," Tom continued, his doubts and rejections spoken aloud, but not unyieldingly, more as if he was only arguing in token gesture. "He can't do everything history requires…his soul is probably too instable to make more Horcrux-"

Tom came to an abrupt halt, staring at him.

"No." Tom's shoulders seemed to slump again, and his features hardened. "No."

"No what?" Harry asked innocently.

"**No you are not using the Horcruxes to put Voldemort back together again, back into being me," **Tom hissed. "That involves you being brain damaged as the Horcrux tears out of your mind. I won't allow it."

Damn it.

"It's the best case scenario," Harry spat, infuriated at his ideas being rejected yet again (and what the hell was Tom even doing to contribute!) "Besides, you mentioned that there was a proper way of taking out Horcruxes! If you would just _teach_ me-"

"The proper way would be for Voldemort to cast another Avada Kedavra at you, without you doing a thing to defend yourself, which is unacceptable as even then we're not sure what would happen. Besides, he wouldn't re-absorb the Horcrux, it would die, so you wouldn't be able to play your little game of Patchwork People anyway," Tom replied,

Harry was suddenly eerily reminded of Marvolo, with those words.

"You don't have the parts to pull this off," Tom continued, his voice less harsh now. "You destroyed the Diary, he's always going to be missing something anyway, it's not viable."

"You could fill in the gaps-" Harry began, hating himself as that suggested Tom made that one, small Horcrux, but…at this rate he was going to do it anyway…

"-_And you would still end up with the mental age of a one year old!_" Tom cut in, furiously, fists clenched. "So what would be the point? I might as well just go back and wipe you into oblivion, it would probably be the kinder alternative."

"And come seventeen years or so, my mind would rebuild and develop itself," Harry insisted, stubbornly.

"As some stranger," Tom countered coldly. "Your experiences make you what and who you are, and you'd never be able to replicate your life again. It wouldn't be the same. No. I won't let you do it."

"But-"

"I don't want to argue with you," Tom interrupted, quietly. "It's a waste of time. Enough."

The unspoken awareness that Tom was referring to the time until the end of the year, when all Fate crashed down on their backs, rang heavy in the space between them. Harry clenched his jaw.

There was an awkward, painful silence.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Tom said, softly, unbearably softly. "But there's nothing you can do."

.No, Harry corrected in his mind: there was nothing he could do with Tom's approval.

But since when had he ever needed it?

* * *

Ginny could feel hot tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as he stared at her, icily, no warmth of friendliness present in the hateful expression he seemed to reserve her.

She'd made some comment to him, again, some stupid comment because it was for his own good not to be around Riddle - he was evil! He'd tried to kill her! - because she'd needed his attention…because she wished he might see this time.

See her dying, screaming, fading away and becoming something else entirely.

Just like in her first year.

Because of _Him_….she'd thought that maybe if she somehow got Harry's attention for long enough, that he would notice, and save her. Save her like he always did.

Instead…he'd just rounded on her, stating in a clinical tone that she was the most pathetic excuse for a human being he'd ever set eyes on.

"Stop following me around, don't even talk to me," Harry continued, relentlessly, fists clenched. "I don't want to have anything to do with me. I never did! The Chamber…you think I did any of that for _you_? It was never about you, you were simply the silly little girl who poured her soul out to a stranger. Love you, Ginerva?" he sneered. "I don't even _like_ you."

"You…you still saved me!" she said, angrily. He scoffed.

"Nah, you were just my excuse to meet the Slytherin Heir, and didn't want Hogwarts to close either, which is why I bothered to stop the attacks. From the bottom of my heart, I honestly would not have cared if you died. Hell, it would probably have been better if you did, than you wouldn't constantly follow me around."

With a glance at Ron, who was watching, speechless, Harry spun around and turned on his heel, disappearing into the throng of his Slytherin friends.

Everyone was staring at the two of them, some appalled, but others hiding cruel sniggers into their sleeves, or not hiding them at all.

Her cheeks burned, and the tears swelled to fall down her cheeks despite how much she tried to press them inside her eyelids, trying to hold it in, her foolish pride defied.

She slid to the floor, head buried in her hands; now knowing how it felt to have your heart broken into pieces.

He hadn't seen. He hadn't even noticed how much she needed him, how much she was just wishing he-anyone-her saviour would see the way she wasted away, her life spiralling and circling the drain.

She'd never felt so lost, as if her whole foundation had just been brutally ripped out from beneath her.

She was so stupid! What if he had seen? What if he simply didn't care? He hadn't cared in the Chamber it seemed.

Maybe she _was_ worthless?

Invisible, because no one could see the scars of Tom Riddle painted across her soul in ugly black stains. No one had really thought about how having _him_ around would affect her, they were all to enamoured.

He was just like she remembered him: charming and enchanting, with a smile that could make the sun blind with its radiance, a quick wit, an ability to know just what to say and when…a sparkling intelligence, perfect handsomeness, and that…that lack of caring patience that simply drove the dagger in further as it mocked her with how naïve she had been to think that someone like him would ever like or care for or want some like her.

She pressed the heels of her hands fiercely into her eyes, wishing the ground would swallow her whole and let her be in the darkness forever.

Dark like him.

Harry had been her hero - back then, he'd been like the Tom she knew, if not quite so razor sharp.

He was endearing and charming, with a smile that could make the sun blind with its radiance, a quick wit, and he was famous and rich…a fairytale prince. So sweet, so kind, and with that caring patience that she'd come to depend on from Tom.

They even looked something alike.

Had she attached her love so firmly on Harry because he was the closest she could find to Tom? The boy she'd come to love before he turned on her and destroyed her, all with that smile and that engaging light in his eyes...

She didn't dare think about it - because they were both gone now, and she was left broken and having to fix herself.

"Ginny?" her youngest brother questioned, hesitantly. "You alright?" He rested a tentative hand on her shoulder, and she curled towards him, sobbing despite her best friends. Her breaths hitched in her throat.

"I hate him," she mumbled. "I hate him I hate him I HATE him!"

She was even sure which him she was talking about anymore. The lines blurred, losing her, and she didn't know how to find her way back anymore.

"I know," Ron murmured. "I just…you're stronger than this, you don't need him."

"Don't I?" she whispered. His grip tightened on her shoulders, causing her head to snap up, his gaze was blazing with sorrow, determination, conviction and something else entirely that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"No, you don't. You're my baby sister…and you even terrify Fred and George with your bat bogey…you don't need Harry to be able to stand up on yourself. You're fierce, and loyal, and kind and I'm pretty sure Dean thinks you're really pretty, hey?"

She blushed slightly.

"Really?"

"Really," he confirmed, firmly. "Ask any Gryffindor. They'll tell you. You can get through this, Gin."

"You're being very sweet," she mumbled, half wondering if she should be suspicious over where her tactless, thoughtless, oblivious brother had gone.

Her lips pressed together with resolve.

She was better than this.

Better than Harry. And Tom.

She was still surving, wasn't she? Her head felt clearer at the very thought.

She could do this. She didn't need Harry.

He ran around after Tom just as much as she ever did.

He was the pathetic one!

And then there was blackness and a sharp pain in her head.

* * *

Harry closed the door to Dumbledore's office quietly behind him, surveying the old Headmaster looked up over his half-moon spectacles, a quill in one hand as he pored over documents, while the man petted Fawkes with the other hand.

"Harry," he greeted, neutrally. "Were you aware that Miss Weasley collapsed soon after that speech of yours earlier?"

There was a glint in blue eyes, and a sadness.

"Is she going to be okay?" Harry asked, quietly, the guilt at saying such horrible things still churning in his gut.

"I dare say she will make a full recovery. She's been looking rather ill for a while now, funnily enough she now seems to be regaining colour and - dare I say - life?"

Dumbledore shot him a piercing look, one with that strange knowledge that reminded why younger students assumed that the Headmaster was truly omniscience.

He seemed to know everything, even now, despite his flaws, and for once Harry was grateful of that. Grateful that there was at least one more member of the light that wouldn't be up in arms against him for his 'senseless' cruelty in cutting down the girl.

But he couldn't help but feel simultaneously annoyed; if Dumbledore had been aware of what was happening, why hadn't _he _done anything? Another test. Harry's mind supplied the answer immediately, dully.

He folded his arms, not wanting to examine that right now, he had other priorities. The locket was warm above his heart.

"I need you to help me track down the Horcruxes; though I would prefer you didn't assign me a detention or add your unwelcome opinions on Tom this time round."

Dumbledore blinked, and then, slowly, smiled.

* * *

A/N: So, life is stressful, my fingers are freezing, Christmas is almost here…but have another update. =) I hope you guys liked it. Thanks again for the fabulous reviews. They keep me motivated, and smiling despite everything else. Much appreciation. 

Non Slash reward; I still owe you one for 100 chapters/2000 reviews. Any suggestions?


	108. Chapter 107

If you recognise it, I'm quoting HBP…therefore, it is not mine. If it was, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction. Actually, scratch that…I probably would fanfic my own novel just to see if I get comments like "oh my god you write so like X" or "no way, you're writing it completely wrong. The characterisations completely off." Heh. Anyway…[[HBP]]

Chapter 107:

A month or so passed, January slipping into a colourless February that was characterised by the grey sheets of rain which sucked the colour out of everything around it like a Dementor's Kiss.

It had been a month painted hazy with lack of sleep, whole pitchers of coffee and a frantic searching for anything that might help him rewrite history.

Harry barely saw the sun, except for Quidditch and Herbology, and before tan skin was growing pale. The second match was in about a weeks time - against Ravenclaw.

Dumbledore had been working too, but so far appeared to have had no leads, but apparently something had come up. He had, true to his words, avoided any power plays and been a very diligent aid. Harry wasn't sure whether to be grateful for that, or incredibly suspicious. He supposed the Headmaster didn't honestly have a choice, with the Unbreakable Vow.

He knew Tom was getting slightly irritated with him, but had so far not made any moves to try and stop him outside of occasionally forcing him to take a break.

Still, Tom wasn't a tolerant person by nature, and Harry wasn't stupid enough to kid himself that Tom wasn't perfectly aware of what exactly he was trying to research and do. Nonetheless, he took it as a positive fact that the Slytherin Heir had yet to stage an interference.

It was late evening, and he was once more leaving the common room to meet Dumbledore.

He rose to his feet, tugging his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He had Occlumency most nights, and was slowly making progress. He could now keep Tom out for about a minute, which he considered a pretty damn impressive achievement even if Tom, the sodding perfectionist, wasn't as complimentary.

He arrived at the circular office, petting Fawkes, declining a lemon drop and moving towards the pensieve that was sitting on the table with a heart torn between excitement, dread and wariness.

As rude as it was, he wasn't there to make small talk with Dumbledore about the nuances of his week.

He dove into the memory.

* * *

Harry didn't recognise the place, but it was indescribably filthy. [[The ceiling was thick with cobwebs, the floar coated in grime; mouldy and rotting food lay upon the table admist a mass of crushed pots.

The only light came from a single guttering candle place at the feet of a man with hair and beard so overgrown Harry could see neither eyes nor mouth.

He was slumped in an armchair by the fire, and Harry wondered for a moment whether he was dead.]]

There was a ring on his finger, gold and heavy, with a black stone with markings on it that he couldn't quite make out from his vantage point.

A knock sounded on the door, [[and the man jerked awake, raising a wand in his right hand, and a short knife in his left.]]

Harry started at the boy that stepped through the threshold, and old-fashioned lamp in hand.

Tall, pale, dark-haired and handsome - _Tom._

He glanced at Dumbledore, about to protest that he was breaking the rules of their engagement, before frowning…because the Headmaster couldn't be, or he would be dead. This wasn't a jab. This was, it seemed, completely and totally relevant.

He repressed a shudder.

For a few seconds Tom and the, as of yet, nameless man looked at each other, then the man staggered to his feet.

"YOU!" he roared, "YOU!" He hurtled drunkenly towards Tom, wand and knife held high, and Harry's hands flinched automatically to his own Holly and Phoenix feather before his mind had completely comprehended his actions.

This was a memory.

He couldn't do anything, and Tom wouldn't die…and this wasn't Tom, he didn't think. Not his Tom at any rate, close, but not quite.

This had to be soon after he returned to his own time period…or whatever equivalent. He wouldn't let Tom become Voldemort. He refused.

"**Stop.**"

Parseltongue? Why did Tom use that in the presence of the man, to scare him? It certainly had some effect, for the man skidded into the table in shock, before a long silence descended.

"**You speak it?"**

"**Yes, I speak it**," Tom hissed.

They both spoke Parseltongue, that meant…Salazar. This was Tom's family. The Gaunts. He'd gone and found them, after all. Harry suddenly felt very, very uneasy, his gut twisting.

He shouldn't be seeing this when Tom hadn't lived through it.

It was wrong on so _many_ levels, but…he had to, didn't he?

There was the even more uncomfortable truth. As Tom himself had said, he wouldn't hide his soul in something without meaning; mediocre, common-place. It would be grand, and so very special and linked to Tom in a way that ensnared him enough.

A trophy.

And that meant, that meant he had to dig, or he wouldn't find them.

Well, this was just adding to a long history of doing stuff without approval or permission, wasn't it?

"**Where is Marvolo**?" Tom questioned, and Harry jolted at the name. This was too weird.

"**Dead**," the man replied. "**Died years ago, didn't he?"**

"**Who are you then?"** Tom frowned.

"**I'm Morfin, ain't I?"**

"**Marvolo's son?"**

"**Course I am, then…"** So he was Tom's uncle. Mother's side of the family presumably, for the Diary Tom had stated that his father was a 'filthy muggle.' **"I thought you was that Muggle**," Morfin whispered. "**You look mighty like that Muggle."**

"**What Muggle?"** Tom asked sharply.

Did Tom not know at this point? He had to know, he knew now…so Tom was trying to root for more information on his father…and this had to be…Harry's insides suddenly doused with ice.

Tom had said he planned on killing his family, his father, on the summer that he came to the future instead. It was this…it was…it was going to be that summer at the end of the year for Tom.

This was Tom in a couple of _months_ if everything went to hell. Wrong. If 'Fate' won.

His throat suddenly felt very tight, choking him. Dumbledore was disappearing, his vision tunnelling on the scene before him, nothing else computing.

"…**You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, I'n 'e? He's older than you, now I think on it."**

Morfin looked dazed, swaying on the spot as if he were about to collapse.

He said something else, but Harry was watching Tom's face now, he could scarcely look away from that oh so familiar face…but not the Tom he knew. An almost-Tom.

The young Dark Lord was regarding Morfin with a scrutinising intentness, and Harry recognised that particular nuance instantly.

Tom was thinking possibilities. Life, death…everything in between, the fate of the man before him.

Morfin didn't even seem to realise, and had continued ranting, ignoring those dark eyes as if anyone ever truly could. They were piercing.

"…**Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?"**

Harry's fingers itched to fly to his throat, where said locket rested against his heart beneath his clothes, warm and alive. Marvolo.

The man continued ranting, and Harry closed his eyes, seeing the resolve in Tom's eyes.

The Slytherin Heir moved forwards, and the lights went out.

He was back in the office a moment later.

* * *

"Slytherin's locket is a Horcrux," Harry said, softly, trying resolutely to ignore the sheer irony of his pretended realisation when the Horcrux suddenly seemed a dead weight upon his skin. "Why did it go black…what did Tom do?" Harry's mind whirred, his brow furrowing. "Morfin can't remember?"

Dumbledore looked surprised, but nodded. Harry thought once again, bitterly, on how everyone assumed he was stupid.

Of course, that was his own fault, he'd the one who'd never tried in classes because he didn't want the added pressure and attention, amongst other reasons.

He'd been fine with it before going back to the past…but there was something about Tom that made you want to be the best possible. Maybe because it was the only way of having a chance at keeping up.

Dumbledore continued relating the story of the scandalous marriage and affair of Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle sr.

In the back of his mind, he heard the story of how Tom had murdered his father, and his father's new family.

That was what unsettled him.

He couldn't relate this to Voldemort.

This was…Tom.

Except, was this Tom because it was Tom, or Tom because he knew this happened and was ensuring the present? He didn't want to think about it.

Harry nodded his acknowledgement, spoke a few words, before walking out, his mind spinning.

That ring…

* * *

It was past midnight when he arrived back at the Common Room, so Harry hadn't really expected anyone to be up - particularly as it was a school night, a Wednesday.

Tom was still there, by the fire, staring into it as the flames illuminated the lines of his face into something far older, and Tom had never looked young for his age.

The rest of the common room was empty, and Harry wasn't completely sure if that was through coincidence and choice, or by Tom's design.

He walked over, but the other didn't look up, though Harry knew Tom was aware of his presence.

"Bit late for you to still be up, isn't it?" Harry questioned, finally, arms folded casually as he dropped to the other end of the sofa.

"Apologies, I must have missed out on the moment when I was assigned a bed time, by one younger than myself I might add," Tom returned with a drawl.

Harry's lip twitched.

"I'm not that much younger than you," he said.

Tom looked over at him, studying. Harry's mind flashed between the memories.

"Any particular reason you're still awake?"

"How was your meeting with the old man?" Tom questioned, in response.

"Mildly informative," Harry said, neutrally, appraising the other in turn. Tom's head tilted with curiosity.

"You don't seem as happy about that as one might think…bad news? Or are you another rung along the ladder of acceptance?"

"You know," Harry replied, slowly, calmly. "I think the acceptance thing would work better, be more convincing, if you actually believed it yourself."

It was a complete bluff on his part, but to not respond would be a greater failure, though he knew at some point it might come back to haunt him.

Tom's gaze grew sharper, his body angling to face more towards Harry than the fire.

"Oh?" Tom raised his eyebrows, a hint of danger in his tone.

"If you'd accepted it, you'd have gone and faced your fate by now, or would at least be making more an effort to stop me."

"It's fascinating how you suddenly appear to know so much about my motives, sweetheart," Tom returned, with a soft undertone of menace. "And rather presumptuous. Maybe I'm not stopping you because I don't think you'll get anywhere and will exhaust your efforts in pointless searching, thus ending with acceptance. Do you realise that your statement suggests that I have something I should be stopping you from doing?" Tom questioned, delicately.

Harry didn't flinch, but inwardly acknowledged that in whatever their game was, that Tom had just scored a point, pinning him with his own words. Still.

"You know me, I'm always up to something," Harry said lightly, with a smirk.

"Indeed," Tom murmured, darker now. "I'm just hoping it's not what I think it is."

"Charming you to speak in nothing but quotes for a week? Muggle ones?" Harry pulled a face. "Damn, I really thought you wouldn't get that one!"

Tom's eyes gleamed with amusement, and something else entirely. Threat. A warning ever present.

"I could read your mind," Tom stated.

"You won't," Harry said confidently. "You're in a good mood, relatively speaking." His confidence faltered for a moment, to worry. "You haven't tortured anyone, have you?"

Tom merely blinked in response, clearly not dignifying that with a reply.

"Then for the sake of your plans I would suggest you make an effort to keep me in a good mood," Tom suggested, with a small smirk.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Sure, I'll hire you a clown to entertain you."

"But you'd make such a good jester yourself. I could just keep you," Tom replied, smirk broadening. Harry sneered.

The thoughts were still whirring inside his head, and the vague sense of guilt.

Tom's smirk vanished after a moment.

"You're troubled. Now I'm really curious about what you and Dumbledore chatted about this time."

"Curiosity killed the cat," Harry deadpanned.

"Satisfaction brought it back," Tom leaned forwards slightly.  
Harry looked away, rising to his feet.

"Goodnight Tom, try not to fall asleep out here. You'd be terrible company in the morning."

Tom's legs shifted to block his path, and Harry paused, knowing the other could probably find another way to keep him there if he especially desired to.

"**If you're hunting Horcruxes, I'm coming with you."**

Harry suddenly lost all want to escape conversation.

* * *

A/N: So….onwards. Oh I can't wait to write my ending, it's all in my head! Not that I'm going to rush through the rest of the story (intentionally) never fear…don't particularly like this chapter though :/ it seems off.

Thank you for all the reviews. I hope you liked the update. Don't know when my next one will be, I have a ton of work, slight writer's block and a growing tetris addiction. =) I'll try not to keep it too long though. 


	109. Chapter 108

Chapter 108:

"And why would you want to do that? If I were, hypothetically, doing so?" Harry questioned, carefully keeping his voice calm.

"I have my reasons," Tom returned, challenging. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"And those reasons would be what?" .

"Well," Tom began, in a lazy drawl which was belied by the gravity in his gaze. "Hypothetically, if you were following the plan of hunting them, they would be very well guarded and only I would be able to get you through such safe holds without killing us both." The Slytherin Heir smiled, sweetly. "I'm simply concerned for your health, golden boy."

"I'm sure," Harry deadpanned. "Touching, really…but, hypothetically, I'll probably work alone."

He knocked Tom's legs out of the way, striding towards the Dorm, not because the conversation had ceased to hold his interest, but…his body came to a lock in the middle of the room.

"Hypothetically, that's not an option," Tom said, voice softer now, more dangerous. "But shall we drop the hypothetical, hero, seeing as we both know that there's nothing hypothetical involved here?"

"Careful, Tom, you're control freak tendencies are showing again," Harry said flatly.

His insides twisted at the forced stillness, instincts rearing against it, not liking it at all.

He was dragged backwards in response, and then spun, so he was standing in front of Tom again.

He wished he could fold his arms, but settled for a defiant quirk of his brows, demanding.

Tom lounged back against the sofa, a vaguely smug glint in his eyes amongst other colder glints.

"You can go with me," Tom stated, "or you can not go at all. We both know I could stop you…I could just keep you from walking more than five metres away from me if I particularly wanted to… so. Let's skip the part where you sulk, struggle, evade, or storm off, shall we?"

"Why are you so desperate to come?" Harry asked, ignoring Tom's 'suggestion.'

"Because," Tom replied, evenly, "as shocking as this might be, I don't actually want to make this more difficult for you than it already is. You're going to spend the rest of your life in regret if you don't exhaust your research efforts…not that I plan to let you follow through on their fruits if it comes to that anyway…and find some small level of acceptance that I'm going to become Voldemort, and that there's nothing you can do about it. As you said, it's _my_ choice."

Tom studied him, head tilting.

"**If I wanted to break you, Harry, I would have already done so**."

Harry blinked. Yeah. That was shocking. And suspicious regarding why Tom was being so open…but Tom had always been rather unpredictably open, it just normally meant he was hiding other things.

Besides, Tom never acting on one motivation alone.

"Uhuh…and what's the real reason you want to come?" he asked.

"How do you know that wasn't the real reason?" Tom smirked. "I could have given it to you in the full knowledge you would automatically assume another one…or maybe, it is my real motive, and I'm simply saying it's not to screw with your head….who knows! Take a lucky guess, sweetheart," the other dared.

"You're infuriating."

"Are you still planning on going alone?" .

"Considering I wouldn't trust you not to sabotage my attempt to save your life, yeah, I am," Harry snapped.

"I'm not the suicidal one," Tom returned, in an insinuating tone, unmoved by the declaration of suspicion.

"Neither am I!" Harry growled, frustrated.

"Not actively," Tom acknowledged. "But you have to admit…seeking oblivion? Giving yourself the mental age of a child? One might believe you must die for me to live or something at this rate, because your solutions to preventing Voldemort thus far have largely been nothing short of self-destructive."

Dark eyes pierced through his soul with a fascinated shine.

"Yeah, well, considering the torture Voldemort has long since promised me, I'd say death was more preservative than destructive," Harry replied, flippantly.

Tom stared at him.

"Stubborn," he remarked, finally. "But stubbornness will gain you nothing this time."

"Nor will insistent demands gain you what you seek either," Harry shrugged. "So where does that leave us?"

"Another stalemate, or so it would seem," Tom replied. "Unless, of course, you trust Dumbledore to find and not destroy them on your behalf? You seem rather close again."

There was a definite mocking drawl to the latter suggestion, and Harry considered it for all of five seconds, before realising that he would never trust Dumbledore fully with something with Tom, even under oath to help.

"Although, it's less of a stalemate considering I win," the young Dark Lord continued, slyly. "And I can wait you out, as you're the one with a rapidly approaching deadline."

Tom was right there; Harry simply didn't have the time to wait around playing games anymore. He had until the end of the year, a couple of months now, to figure out how to rewrite history.

It sounded worse when he put it like that.

"Win, Tom?" he returned, quietly. "Do you _really_? Because the way the story's going it seems more like we're both losers."

Tom favoured him with an unreadable expression.

"Perhaps, but us both losing is better than you winning."

Harry almost gaped.

"And what if we find a way to both win?" he questioned

"There isn't one."

"Then why would you let me look with you, but not without you?" He studied the Slytherin Heir. "Sometimes, I think you've given up on, but other times…"

Tom's eyes flashed, and he spoke flatly.

"I'll let you look because you have to, that doesn't mean I trust you not to do something stupid if you go looking alone. I'll let you look because I want you figure this out, but that doesn't mean I have any hope that you will, and I'll come with you because there'll come a time when I need to know what to create."

Harry gritted his jaw.

"Easy for me, Tom? You're just trying to make it easier for you, at least have the courtesy to be honest about that. You can come, but don't expect me to work with you. You've made it perfectly clear that we're on different sides now."

"Don't be so overdramatic," Tom said coldly, and he felt the lock on his body release. "We've never been on the same."

Harry spun and stormed into the Dorm room.

* * *

Tom sank further into the lounge, wanting to pull his knees up closer to his chest for comfort, but not allowing himself the indulgence.

He had one too many weaknesses already, he was too human. Far too human. He hated it.

If Wizards could live as Gods amongst men, then why did he still have to suffer through such limitations? He hated limitations too.

He suppressed a sigh, gazing into the flickering fire before him, tired.

Bloody Harry.

He didn't know why the boy was so upset, _he_ was the one who practically had his whole life planned out for the foreseeable future…but he was also the one in control. Harry was helpless, and aware of that on some level, lashing out against the restraints placed upon him by Fate and history.

Unravelling.

They both were.

Their relationship…dynamic…whatever they had, thrived off the challenges and games they played, but this was straining it to breaking point.

It was…nice to have someone care enough to go to this length to save him, to try and help him, but…he'd never accepted help very easily, and was loathe to do so now.

For once, he was loathe to sacrifice another for the sake of himself. His lips twisted.

The irony was that the reason for him to leave the future Fate dictated was the reason that he stayed.

He could easily solve this, he could walk away and never look back, live his life like he wanted, be what he wanted to be and never stop running from the memories.

All that seemed necessary for that to happen was for Harry to die.

Inexplicably, it seemed neither of them could truly live with the other around, only survive. For Harry to be, Voldemort had to be and Tom would be gone. For Tom to live, Harry couldn't, only survive in shattered shadows to destroy the name he would grow to be. Or die trying…and didn't that just make everything so pointless?

But he wouldn't walk away regardless. He couldn't.

He'd invested too much of himself in Harry, and didn't that just sting.

He'd created his own downfall.

His own Kryptonite.

It was only slightly reassuring that Harry would inevitably be dragged down with him, for he'd become Harry's fatal flaw in turn.

Salazar, they were dysfunctional. And they'd never been on the same side, properly…and they would probably never have to chance to be.

Maybe in another life, another time, they would rule the world.

Look at him thinking on some other life like a teenage girl...right now, he didn't see how it could be this one, and that was all that mattered. He'd never dwelled on what ifs before, and he refused to start.

But maybe if he was very, very lucky...

He would never agree to Harry's plans, and he'd always said that Harry wouldn't approve of his.

But since when had he ever needed Harry's approval?

It was just a matter of who reached the end point first now.

* * *

A/N: Is it just me, or this story lagging a bit? I hope I'm not losing inspiration, and that none of you are losing interest. The length of this story didn't kind of run away with me…but the conclusion is coming! Promise.

Thanks for the reviews. =D You are all fantastic. I've never had a story this popular before me, it still shocks me. Much appreciation x

Now, I must go work, hope you enjoyed the fruits of my free time :)


	110. Chapter 109

Chapter 109:

A couple of days passed, and Harry avoided Tom desperately, submerging himself in feverish research.

He'd also experimented on the mark with the help of Marvolo, and what little sleep he got had once again grown tainted with thoughts of black marble corridors.

"He's just a bit full of wrackspurts at the moment, you know," a dreamy, oddly familiar already, voice stated.

Harry looked up, seeing Luna Lovegood drifting towards his table in the library.

If he wasn't in the Great Hall for a snatch of food (or perhaps more likely the kitchens), the Quidditch Pitch practising for the upcoming match, his classes or the Room of Requirement - he was here.

He went to Slytherin to sleep, despite the feeling that he could have gone back to Gryffindor by now.

"Luna?" his brow furrowed. "Hi….er, what are Wrackspurts and who are you talking about?"

"Tom Riddle," she said pleasantly, though a bit sadly. "He's full of Wrackspurts. Your head's full of them too. They're invisible creatures that make your brain go all fuzzy."

Brain go all fuzzy…confusion? Tom was confused? He looked at her.

"And I care because?" he questioned, dully. "Tom, not Wrackspurts," he added, to clarify. He didn't mind talking to Luna.

She gave him in an odd look.

"The heart has reasons which reasons knows not," she replied in a tone that suggested the answer was obvious. "You don't have to have a reason to care about him, you just do."

He thinned his lips.

"Unfortunately."

"Don't be like that," she plopped into the seat next to him, her…butterbeer cork(?) necklace rattling with her movement. "You have a very special bond."

"Yeah, we're real special," he said blandly. Dysfunctional. Twisted. He should get out of it. "Why's Tom confused?"

"He looks lonely without you," she remarked, seemingly ignoring his question.

"He looks fine," Harry protested, perhaps a little short, sick of the topic already.

He didn't want to talk about Tom. The problem was that he found himself talking or wondering about Tom a lot despite this…and that would be a really bad thing to admit aloud. It sounded sycophantic. And he was trying to…trying to…

"That's because he doesn't want you to see," she shrugged. "And you don't want to look."

Harry frowned, more troubled than he cared to confess. She stared at him, pale blue eyes shining like slices of a moon, ethereal, before smiling and promptly writing an essay in a loopy, cursive script.

She was humming under her breath as she worked, light tunes that changed and swooped to darker melodies, before bursting again to crescendos, seemingly with the nuances of her thoughts.

"It's usually more important how we meet our fate, Harry Potter, then what it actually is."

* * *

Ginny hadn't felt this good in weeks, but she still cursed the boy who made her feel this way.

She was stronger than before, no longer dependent, the sickly taint lifted from her mind, her energy restored to her. She felt much like she had after the Chamber of Secrets debacle, deeply ashamed of her uncharacteristic actions, relieved beyond compare and no longer breaking.

She was also angry; angry with herself, Tom Riddle and Harry freaking Potter.

She could have loved him, and would have been anything he needed if he ever allowed her to be and offered simple love in return. But he hadn't. He'd ignored and cut her out. He'd _changed._

The person she had liked was gone. She supposed she'd first been attracted, drawn to him, because he was the famous Harry Potter…and then, when she got to know him better, this had deepened from fan girl admiration to feelings for the actual person behind the name.

He'd been so like the Tom she'd known.

Sweet, kind, considerate and funny, not quite as clever but just as resourceful. Powerful. They both had an aura of power too, one that she'd thought was softened by compassion and shaped by protectiveness. They even looked alike.

Now though, well, he was still like Tom - but the true Tom Riddle, the demon who he'd revealed himself to be.

Like Tom, he'd grown cold and cruel, with a razor sharpness of _damage_ beneath a flawless exterior, wounding anyone who got too close like the jagged edges of shattered glass.

He, call her nothing? No. He was the one that was nothing. He was a mere shadow, pathetic.

She'd loved him.

She didn't love him anymore, and couldn't bring herself to care anymore about what he did.

She was better than this. She could survive without him; he wasn't her hero, she was her own hero, she had to be.

She used to be, before all this started…she'd finally began to grow comfortable with herself. Be who she wanted to be.

Grow up.

Now, she would start over, reground herself, and forget him because he was toxic.

And maybe, just maybe, someday she'd find the Gryffindor courage to tell him all this aloud.

* * *

"Harry," a voice called. Tom.

He would recognise that voice anywhere and at anytime…and wasn't that just lame? To be so aware of a person's voice that he could automatically pick it out in a whole crowd.

Pathetic.

And it had to be Tom's voice too. He'd know Ron and Hermione's anywhere and everywhere too, but it didn't pierce so sharply.

Tom had a very piercing voice for one so smooth. He was not going to start analysing Tom's voice! Ugh.

He didn't stop, continuing down the corridor to Herbology with his best friends. Hermione and Ron exchanged what seemed to be nervous glances, and Hermione seemed about to murmur something, but it became largely unnecessary when he was pulled to an abrupt stop by his left arm.

He grit his teeth in fury. Tom seemed to revel in doing that. It was getting repetitive. Tom had largely avoided using the mark when Harry had first received it, but now it seemed to be a common occurrence.

He turned, knowing Tom well enough that the other would allow him to face him. He always would.

Harry remained silent, having too much to say, but not knowing how or where to even begin. Ron and Hermione dithered, looking uneasy.

"Tom-" Hermione began.

"-This doesn't concern you, Granger," Tom said, tone already cooler than it had been mere moments before, when he'd called out. Harry's stomach knotted.

"-If it's to do with Harry it concerns me, unless he tells me otherwise," Hermione said fiercely, protectively. Tom didn't glance her way, focus intent, and maybe that was a response, a dismissal, in itself. In Slytherin, it would be.

Ron's hand had fallen to his wand, but Harry's sharp look warned his best friend against drawing it. Tom would flatten them in a duel, however above average for their age they were.

"You know, I think you're really started to develop that flair for the dramatic, golden boy," Tom drawled. "But I've allowed you your three days to sulk, time to be a bit more mature now."

"I'm not sulking," Harry said flatly. "I just have absolutely no desire to waste my time talking to you."

"And by this stage of life, you, of all people, should know that we can't always get what we desire or want," Tom returned, immediately. "Come along, or I _swear_ I will just drag you because I have neither the time nor the inclination to pander to your sensibilities."

"You wouldn't dare," Harry spat. Tom arched his brows, smirking coldly.

"**Never dare me, sweetheart."**An invisible force tugged him closer, just to prove it. Harry clenched his fists.

"Hermione, Ron, can you make some excuses to Sprout?"

* * *

Hermione watched them go with some trepidation, her lips thin with anger at the scene that had just occurred.

She really shouldn't be surprised that Riddle was so willing to walk across another's choices as if they were nothing - he was the teenage Dark Lord after all.

Still.

She'd thought Tom was smarter and more academic than to recklessly drag Harry out of classes.

It was OWLs year! It was important! Oh. Harry had already taken his exams…hadn't he? In the past. Nonetheless, the life and grades of Harrison Evans wouldn't necessarily hold for the life of Harry Potter, and it was stupid of Riddle to jeopardise Harry's future like that.

Harry clearly hadn't _wanted _to go.

Ugh. Riddle was so infuriating.

Sometimes, she honestly did not see what Harry saw in the bastard…sure, he was charming when he wanted to be, Hermione had witnessed that first hand, that dangerous seduction…and he was intelligent and witty and an almost perfect opposite and equal to Harry…but…other than that?

Riddle was callous where Harry cared too much, overly demanding and domineering. Harry craved freedom. How did they work?

She'd wondered that many times before, and come up with answers each and every time too.

Harry liked freedom, but Tom in a manner gave him freedom…the freedom to explore his darker sides without stipulation, where her and Ron allowed him to revel in his lighter nature. And Tom…Riddle thrived off the challenge of Harry's defiance, and in his own way, sought freedom too.

It was strange how they could be so alike and yet so different. Paradoxical.

She only hoped it would work out well.

* * *

Harry didn't fold his arms, unwilling to restrict his ability to react, and reach his wand.

"I don't know what you think you're doing; I have nothing to say to you," he said.

The next second, Harry could feel the very tangible fury that had descended on the room. It had the brewed feeling of an emotion that had been growing, and Harry guessed the rage had been rising in all the time he'd been ignoring the other.

Often, giving Tom space allowed for him to cool off and let his brain catch up with his emotions and rationalise…the flipside was it allowed for that brilliant mind to work out exactly what it wanted and what it needed to get that.

Including revenge plans.

He hoped this wasn't a revenge plan, but could see no other reason that Tom would suddenly be so angry.

It wasn't visible on his face, but Harry could feel the cold sting of it on his senses. He resisted the urge to shiver, aware that his muscles had tensed slightly.

"Well, perhaps I still have things to stay to you, so tough," Tom replied, calmly enough. The Slytherin Heir was still keeping his notorious temper, and keeping it carefully.

Harry could feel his own emotions churning; the frustration, the helplessness, the fear, the determination, the sorrow and most of all, the exhaustion; everything just rolling into one huge mass that his Slytherin Side was having trouble masking.

They were both too volatile for this conversation - too involved for this to go smoothly.

"More words to console the path you're choosing?" he questioned, lips twisting without humour. "Direct them at the mirror, because you've made your stance perfectly clear to me."

"Ah, so that's what this is about," Tom murmured, a vindictive edge to his tone, and a bitingly mocking one. "Is my little lion feeling rejected? Did I hurt his feelings?"

"Screw you," Harry sneered, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of verbal daggers sinking into his skin like another bullet to pepper his armour. "And no, I knew well enough that you're a psychotic, hypocritical bastard who cares about no one but himself. You've told me it enough times, certainly."

Tom's jaw tightened.

"Hypocritical?" he questioned, delicately.

"You do what's best for you," Harry said quietly, the tiredness growing. "I know that, and I understand that's the way you are, and I know you begrudge me for trying to change your mind. Now allow me my own selfishness…you've made your choice, I've made mine…I'm not going to stick around and _watch_ you become him, Tom. I believe I've made that obvious. So, I'm doing what's best for me. I'd thank you to leave me to it."

Tom was silent for a moment, features frozen.

"You're walking away…?" Tom questioned, emotionless. Harry swallowed.

"Walking away would suggest I'm washing my hands off all of this. I'm still going to do everything in my power to make sure you don't-"

Hands closed on his shoulders before he could even blink, the grip crushingly tight and liable to live bruises on his skin. His back hit the door behind him.

"-No." There was no argument, no denial, just a cold, hard statement, like a fact. "How _dare_ you?" Tom hissed. "You would just cut me out without a *** goodbye? You _bastard_."

"I'm only taking the next step in what you started," Harry snarled, his fingers closing around Tom's wrist, leaving bruises of his own no doubt. "You told me to accept your view, and now you have the audacity to attack me for doing just how that? I guess you misjudged my masochistic streak for your own, because I'm not the one trying to pretend that there's no problem and dragging this out!"

"Dragging this out? You think I should just go to the past?" Tom demanded.

"I don't understand why you haven't!" Harry exclaimed. "This is all your choice Tom, be Voldemort or not. In the end it's not going to _matter_ what solutions I find if you're not willing to use them, and you seem pretty damn convinced on where you're heading anyway, so what's the point of being here, Tom? Enlighten me, because I guess I'm too stupid to work it out!"

"And you're response to that is to leave? Without a _goodbye?_"

"It's not as if you haven't been saying goodbye every second since you decided to become him," Harry snapped. "I've told you before, Tom, you can just keep pinging and pushing me and hoping I'll always come back for another round of having you mess me up."

"Well, considering I'm such a selfish bastard you probably know my response to your choice. No."

"It's my choice, you can't take it away from me!"

"Hey, I'm a psychotic, hypocritical bastard who cares about no one but myself - walking over your choices is what I do," Tom smirked, but there was nothing but ice and hardness on those lips. "On the subject of promises made and things we've told each other before, I told you that I'm never letting you go. **Or did I not make that stance clear enough**?"

"You're becoming Voldemort!"

"But I'm not him yet, so don't act like I am!"

There was a deathly silence. Oppressive and heavy, suffocating. Harry looked away, trying to regain his composure.

"You make no sense," he accused, bone weary, confused. Drained.

"What, you don't know where you stand with me?" Tom mocked.

Harry glared.

"No, actually, I have to say I don't. And it's a horrible familiar occurrence which I'm getting sick of returning to as if I'm some clingy stray you picked up."

Tom's grip loosened fractionally on one shoulder after a moment.

"This wasn't supposed to go like this," he murmured. Harry snorted.

"Oh, you think?" he mumbled. Tom rolled his eyes at the response, retreating a little bit, heading for a window to look outside.

Harry knew it would be logical to just walk out the door.

He'd been trying to convince himself of the logic of just giving up and getting away from Tom all week, and that had perhaps come out in his speech as made decisions more than the plans they were.

He ignored Tom because he needed space to _think_, because he couldn't deal with the battle of being around the other yet, and in stupid, careless words that had come out as something else, a thought.

He knew he should leave. Let it go. Walk away. He couldn't. He never bloody could. It was why the were still friends, or whatever they were, over a year in despite the near constant arguments.

It worked because they were utterly invested in making it work.

"Don't bother trying the door," Tom said, when Harry shifted on his feet at this uncomfortable thought process. "I've locked you to not be able to walk away from me past ten metres."

"You're unbelievable," Harry said, numbly.

"I know what I want," Tom corrected. Harry's lip twitched.

"You do realise what that sounds like, don't you?" he asked. Tom glanced around at him, startled, before smirking.

"You've spent way too much time with Alphard."

There was another silence, a tiny tad less choking this time round.

Tom turned around to face him again, noticeably more composed, leaning back against the window ledge. He was also noticeably more unreadable, masks up, locked and bolted against anyone who'd try and get past them.

Harry sighed.

"I don't…want to do this," he explained, softly. "But, I don't want to watch you destroy yourself either, and I know if I stay close I'm just going to be fighting with you _all_ the time…and, I don't want that."

He was sick of people leaving him, and if there was going to be some inevitable goodbye here, he was going to take it and control it because it was the only power he had left with their fates. The rest of the choices were all up to Tom.

The Slytherin Heir studied him silently.

"I don't think you'll find any solution that I'm willing to accept," Tom replied, in a measured tone. "You got that right. But…if you _do_, find something that is, I'm not going to face my Fate before I have to."

It took Harry a few seconds to translate what Tom was actually saying.

He was staying for the tiny hope that it would work out.

He hadn't…completely…given up.

"Why didn't you say this earlier?" he asked. "You made me believe you'd given up."

"I'm not one for encouraging false hopes when it doesn't benefit me," Tom replied.

Harry bit his lip.

"But you're still going to try and stop me from executing my plans?" he verified.

"Less so if you don't try and leave. Research all you want, look for a solution, I won't stop you with that…only if you put your research into practise in a manner that doesn't befit my own…plans."

"I was under the impression I wouldn't like your plans," Harry probed warily. "Whatever they may be."

"You wouldn't," Tom agreed.

"So why would I let you go through with them?"

"Why would I let you go through with yours when I find them equally distasteful?" Tom returned, arching his brows. Harry frowned.

"Self interest…isn't that what you're supposed to be good at that?"

"Clearly I've spent too much time around you," Tom said, whether in jest or not Harry wasn't sure. He stared, before looking away.

"If I say I've changed my mind about keeping my distance from you, would you drop the…restrictions?" he questioned.

"No," Tom replied. Harry blinked.

"You're seriously going to stop me from going more than ten metres away from you?" he demanded, incredulous.

Tom favoured him with that obvious-answer-stupid-question look.

"Uh…you know I have different classes to you, right?"

"I could do my OWLs practical examinations with my hands tied behind my back," Tom shrugged. "And the theory with no sleep for a week, and a hangover. I have no reason to attend classes. They bore me."

"Then why have you so far?"

"Because it benefited me to somewhat blend with my environment," Tom said.

"So you're just going to follow me around?"

"No. You'll be doing the following as I control your boundaries, but I'll allow you to go to your classes."

Harry gaped.

"You're not serious," he accused.

Tom's expression was flat. Salazar…he was serious.

Harry's mouth felt dry. When exactly had this situation flipped to be this skewed? He wasn't going to…he didn't…

"Just because we're on seperate sides...that doesn't mean we're enemies, Harry," Tom stated, quietly. It was the closest to an apology Harry knew he was going to get.

"Don't get in my way," he warned. Tom merely smirked in response to that, before continuing, smoothly, as if the whole scene hadn't even happened.

"I think we should go and visit Little Hangleton again."

* * *

A/N: Art thou my longest chapter yet? Possibly. I hope you liked it, and that it didn't seem too off or anything. Hehe. Hyper. My friend gave me Death Note DVDs (The live action) and I just watched the two of them back to back…five hours straight. I'm such a nerd. And it's almost Christmas and the end of term! Booyah! Though I still have a ton of work, but…

Anyway. Thank you for the reviews. Much much love. I hope you love this chapters as much if not more. Something actually happens! I think so anyway. I'm nervous though. As I think you would either like this chapter, or absolutelu despise it and wonder what I was playing at...


	111. Chapter 110

Chapter 110:

Harry's hand flinched to his arm, feeling a familiar tug that almost yanked the ground out from beneath his feet in its abruptness.

He'd found, very quickly, that he did not like being restricted to not moving more than ten metres away from Tom.

Especially when it was the type of restriction in which it was only him tied - it wasn't as if they were joint by handcuffs, he couldn't walk away and force Tom to follow by simply moving like the other could; the Slytherin Heir was the one in control.

It was infuriating.

The only time Harry picked where they were going was when he physically dragged Tom with him, and hence, dragged the ten metre restriction too.

Tom's eyes had widened in shock when he first did that, before growing amused. Then he had dragged his heels in to make it as difficult for Harry as possible. Jerk.

Tom had temporarily released him for Quidditch Practise, after a long series of negotiations and bickering about it, with the promise/threat that he would put the restriction on again in an hour. Harry had gritted his teeth, but accepted it, and promptly decided to see what would happen if he wasn't back in an hour exactly.

Now he knew.

His arm was burning, literally tugging him across the field away from where he'd been stealing time talking to the Gryffindors after Quidditch Practise ended.

Thankfully, he spent enough time around Tom anyway that most people hadn't started questioning their sudden closeness - he'd explained the situation to an irate Hermione and Ron, but no one else. Now, however, it seemed that might become a problem as there was nothing visible to show why he was moving away…getting dragged away, because anyone could see quite clearly that he wasn't in control of the relentless movement.

Harry really wasn't looking forward to Monday, and the consequent meeting with Dumbledore…especially as he would probably have to resort to the aforementioned physical dragging to be able to even get there.

They were going to Little Hangleton later today, in about half an hour actually - which was definitely _not_ the reason he was so adamant on testing the _leash_ Tom had on him.

It actually kind of hurt, burning. He was way out past ten metres, and so whatever force Tom was using felt like it was tearing at his bones in effort to get him back within range.

He kind of felt like he was in a tornado.

The next second his head was spinning and he landed flat on the floor of the Slytherin Common Room, biting back a groan.

He opened his eyes again to see Tom looking down at him, with a semi-amused and semi-something else expression.

"What the _hell_ was that?" Harry demanded. "I'm pretty certain you can't apparate within Hogwarts wards."

"Dumbledore can," Tom smirked, offering a hand. Harry didn't take it, getting to his feet himself, feeling uncomfortable with the way the Slytherins were staring. "You're late."

The smirk vanished.

"I'm not a child, you can't give me a curfew," Harry said irritably.

Tom simply raised his eyebrows his response, mockingly, before rising from his position on the sofa and heading for the door.

Harry followed, not wanting to get dragged again.

The first couple of times, he'd tried just staying on the spot, but he always ended up lurching forwards after ten metres.

Uneasiness settled in his stomach.

He _really_ hated that Graveyard. Tom held out what looked to be the same pack of cards as last time, and Harry hesitated. The Slytherin Heir's eyes gleamed.

"Do you really want to see what happens if I portkey and you don't, while I hold a ten metre restriction on your movement?" The other asked.

"Do you think there's one in Little Hangleton? A…ring?" he questioned. "In the Riddle House or something?"

"Or something," Tom said softly, shaking the cards at him with a flick of impatience.

Harry sighed, taking hold, and then he was spinning, through blackness. He landed on the ground again for the second time in the space of ten minutes.

This time Tom didn't ask, merely hauling him to his feet with lips coloured by entertainment.

"Shut up," Harry growled.

"I didn't say anything, sweetheart," Tom drawled. "Touchy issue?"

Harry shoved him, not particularly hard, for want of response and in order to not analyse where they were.

Tom laughed, shaking his head, before sobering.

They stared around the graveyard in silence for a moment, and memories flashed before Harry's eyes, dizzyingly. He could feel Tom's gaze like a physical weight. Last time, Tom had been distracted by his own demons, now, he was taking the opportunity to analyse.

Harry ducked his head, pressing his hands into his pockets in white fists of tension.

"Riddle House?" he asked, not waiting for a reply before he was striding towards the handsome, derelict building with a background hum of panic.

His body came to a stop at the ten metre line, and he gritted his teeth as he fought for composure, before turning around.

"If you're planning on making me stand here-" he began, dangerously.

"-Memories can only hurt you if you let them," Tom stated, so softly. Harry swallowed.

"Yeah? Is that why you supposedly chose to forget yours?" he returned, defensively.

"_Harry."_

Harry was quiet for a bit, not apologising, but not pushing further either.

"Can we just do what we came here for?" he asked, finally.

Tom studied him, before turning and walking in the opposite direction. Harry bit his lip, but hurried to catch up, warily.

"I don't believe I would hide anything in the old Riddle House," Tom explained. "It holds nothing of worth to me, and I hardly think I would give myself any further ties with my _father_."

Derision practically dripped off Tom's tongue at the last word. Harry's brow furrowed. He'd been so sure that was why they were in Little Hangleton, unless-of course.

"You think it's at the Gaunt House," he said. Tom inclined his head in acknowledgement. He glanced at the other, wondering.

"Do you still want to do it, in face of this?" he questioned. Tom looked at him, expression dark, and Harry quickly clarified. "I meant your father. Do you still want to…meet him?"

Tom's lip curled, thinly.

"Do I still want to kill him, you mean? Yes. If I could I would resurrect his body and soul right this second for the pleasure of torturing the life out of him again…does that bother you?"

Harry thought about it. Did it bother him?

"I don't much like torture, or killing, but I can understand why you might…want to," he replied, carefully, honestly.

They headed out the Graveyard, taking a path that curved down the hill and around the back of the Riddle House. He could, distantly, see something of a shack.

The…Gaunt House? It was perfectly possible. His throat suddenly felt tight. Was this Tom's first time visiting? Or had he gone there last time?

Harry wasn't sure, but he could easily see the significance in Tom having him to come along, and the significance in that the other was allowing this Horcrux chase at all, rather than going to all efforts to stop it.

"Have you genuinely never wanted to hurt someone?" Tom asked, his voice meticulously casual. "Make them feel the pain they wrought on you?"

"Of course, and I have. That doesn't mean I approve of my own actions."

Tom made a noise in the back of his throat, something like disbelief but not quite.

"You never cease to amaze me."

Harry turned his head at that, regarding Tom intently, genuinely surprised by the statement, in both content and the blunt confession of it. His eyebrows arched slightly in question.

"You're so…I'd say innocent, but it's not quite the word," Tom murmured. "Nor is pure, I doubt we'd get on so well if you were truly the Golden boy many claim you to be."

"Innocent?" Harry was sceptical. "I'm hardly innocent."

"No, you're not," Tom agreed. "Which is why I said it's not quite the right word."

"Tom Riddle, not effortlessly eloquent for once, this day should be marked in history," Harry said, dryly, mainly to try and ease the intensity in Tom's gaze.

It had no effect, but for a familiar smile-smirk being directed at him.

"Put it this way, most people can't live through what you have and identify with me while remaining so utterly…_good_. It's remarkable."

"You're going to make me blush," Harry drawled, flippantly, feeling uncomfortable with this uncharacteristic, open almost-flattery. "I thought you didn't believe in good, evil and all morality's in between?"

"I don't," Tom replied, shooting him another sideways glance, clashing their gazes together for a moment. "And I can never be sure if I want to crush that trait of yours or preserve it."

"Don't think too hard on it, you might hurt yourself in unknown territory," Harry said.

Tom's lips curled again. They were about halfway to the shack now; it was looming ahead of them to knot Harry's stomach.

He wondered if that was why Tom was so talkative too…neither of them wanted to be alone with their thoughts, not now and not here.

"Yeah, any characteristics you like in me then, genius?" Tom returned. "If these thoughts are so easy for you to express?" Harry nearly froze at the unexpectedness of the query, and the playfulness that blurred indistinguishably with a simultaneous danger in Tom's tone.

"Uh…" he licked his dry lips, suddenly awkward, afraid of what the other could take from his words, and scared he'd reveal too much.

"Ouch," Tom deadpanned, apparently taking his lack of immediate response as an insult.. "Now that hurts."

"You know well enough that you're brilliant, you hardly need me to inflate you ego," Harry muttered. Tom was a genius, powerful, talented, witty, charismatic_…_

Tom blinked, arching that questioning eyebrow right back, seeming to sense the change in emotion and curious at the cause behind it. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I thought you hated talking about feelings," he grumbled.

"No," Tom shrugged, still appraising him. "I hate talking about _my_ feelings and feelings generally, yours, I have no issue with."

"Lucky me."

"It's your own fault."

"How's it my fault?" Harry gaped. "Because I'm _interesting_ or whatever it was?"

"Essentially, yes," Tom smirked at him.

"Careful with your pedestals. I dare say you'll get bored soon enough," Harry answered lightly.

"Is that what you think?" Tom's voice was still equally casual, but there was a hint of something other now too. "Tch. Don't make me take back my opinion on your intelligence with such stupid comments."

There was a silence. The Gaunt House suddenly seemed much closer.

"Why do you care so much about what people think of you?" Tom asked after a while, and Harry started.

"I don't," he frowned. "I'm a Gryffindor who hangs around with Slytherin's, come on-"

"-You can't stand the way everyone automatically simplifies us into a couple, based on sub textual evidence or whatever…" Tom cut in, musingly. "But when you don't feel comfortable you adhere to those same restrictions and rules that you claim to dislike," Tom looked at him. "Ergo, you do care about what people, society, thinks. Why? It doesn't really fit you to do so."

"Fit me to do so…?" Harry questioned.

"For such a champion of freedom, you're very fixated on limitations."

Harry searched for a good way to put it, but couldn't find one, and sighed.

"Freedom and bravery," he stated, as they approached a run down garden with a broken gate that hang in tatters.

"_Excuse me?"_

He didn't look at Tom, bizarrely now finding it easier to focus on the Gaunt House in front of them.

"Traits I…admire in you. Freedom and Bravery."

Unlike Tom, just because he believed in freedom and lack of limitations, to be able to do what he wanted and be who he was without care to anyone else's opinion or anything else, that didn't necessarily believe he was brave enough to shake off all that had been instilled him to do it.

He envied Tom so much for his…easiness with himself, even if that easiness came in the form of Psychopathic tendencies.

He could practically feel Tom trying to figure out of his thought process, as the both stared at the shack, not quite going in, hands resting on the gate as if to push it open.

In the end, Tom said nothing, and they entered.

* * *

Tom stepped into the house, deep in thought and glad to be so, because it was better than being _here. _It was…a wreck.

Godric's Hollow may have been falling to ruin, but that was due to something more noble, and the house itself had possessed redeemable qualities of wealth and homely elegance.

This shack had no redeemable qualities, and he couldn't see how his older self had found it special enough to want to hide his soul here, forever possibly.

He supposed it was the link to his mother and his Slytherin Ancestry, his family, but…he glanced at Harry, gauging his reaction.

This wasn't a place he wanted to be associated with, but he was, at the very least, confident that Harry wouldn't go blurting about the contents of this trip to anyone.

His jaw tightened.

He could sense his magic across this place, so while he couldn't see why he would have hidden the Horcrux here out all grand hiding places, he could tell that he had. He abruptly tightened the ten metre restriction on Harry, causing the other to stumble back a few steps and shoot him a glare.

He paid it no heed.

"Careful," he warned. "This place is bursting with Dark Magic. There will be traps." He looked down at the floor.

Harry looked marginally appeased that he wasn't just being yanked about for no reason.

"I know. I can feel it," Harry murmured, eyes scouring the hut.

There were linings of dust everywhere, and cracked pots and pans and an overturned armchair. His fists clenched slightly.

What a disappointment.

How dare they allow the aristocratic and ancient family of Perevell and Slytherin fall to such ruin and decay? It was pathetic. And embarrassing.

Maybe that was why it was hidden here; he had been sane-but-insane enough according to Harry's standards to pick somewhere where the Horcrux would most likely never be looked for, for the exact reasons he wouldn't have wanted to associate his _soul_ with such a wretched place.

Dumbledore wouldn't automatically assume this place held significance.

Nonetheless, there was the insanity touch in the differences that this place had to hold some significance, otherwise he would never have contemplated putting it here regardless of safety.

On security alone, he could just bury the thing - and certainly not give a Horcrux to someone like Lucius Malfoy, as rumour had it. That must have been done later, even if he had passed the object down through Abraxas.

"Feel the magic or the Horcrux?" he asked Harry.

The other looked at him, startled, and Tom waited patiently. Harry swallowed, a sickness in his gaze that was still present upon the topic of the shards of his soul.

"Both," Harry replied, voice barely above a whisper. "A lot of it comes from the same place."

"The floor," Tom stated. Harry nodded. He paced forwards, wand in hand, keeping Harry close.

"There," Harry said, quietly, unnecessarily…but he also knew Harry wasn't dumb enough to think he had to verbally point this out like he might have had to with anyone else…less connected.

So, he was speaking to fill the silence, and, therefore, must have been uneasy.

Was it because of the Dark Magic? Harry might be affected by that, it was nearly Black in its shade, and Harry still had some lightness in him to create that unique greyness that he'd never truly seen on anyone else.

Most people had an affinity to either Dark or Light, it was rare to have an affinity in both - let alone a strong one. He presumed Harry got the strong light capabilities from his parentage, and the hunger and talent for the Dark from Tom himself. A smirk curled his lips at the thought, briefly.

That was a pleasant distraction to contemplate, but he couldn't afford to be distracted right now, so he banished the thought for later smugness and scrutiny.

They both crouched down, though he grimaced at the filth while Harry seemed largely unbothered by it. They studied what had to be a loose floorboard for a moment.

"I'm guessing we can't just prise it up and take the thing…it's a ring, isn't it?"

Indeed it was, though he was curious as to how Harry would know that, and what exactly he knew about the ring in question.

"It belonged to the Perevell brothers," he said, watching Harry to see if he knew any significance to a ring that had belonged to the Perevell brothers.

There was none.

There wouldn't be unless Harry had read the original fairytales, before they were warped by translation and the desire for family suitability.

Harry was here for the Horcrux, he knew that, but Tom himself was here for so much more than that…the Horcrux was so much more than that.

Voldemort must have forgotten that along with everything else - which, could he say, was a total waste of all that he had learned and researched while he was here in the future.

Harry assumed that he was all play right now, revelling in his last year and unconcerned with anything resembling work…but that wasn't quite true.

He'd had some projects of his own, and an ongoing plan of which those projects fitted. Harry was project number one, and, perhaps, in a way, always would be now.

Golden Boy was a constant work in progress, for Tom still couldn't claim complete understanding, and the other surprised him still, fairly often, a year or so in.

Get _bored_? Highly unlikely. What a ridiculous thing to say.

They studied the floor for a while further, and he tentatively reached out with his magic, and was correct in assuming that the protections didn't attack him.

He was thankful that Harry hadn't searched out at the protections yet, too deeply, for he had the feeling that the other wouldn't possess the same immunity.

"Don't touch the magic," he said quietly, knowing Harry was liable to recklessly do just that.

"I wasn't going to, I can feel it spitting at me just for coming this close…but you," Harry looked at him.

"Aren't you glad I came. You'd have to do this the hard way otherwise," he said dryly, reaching out with his magic.

The protections recognised it, and the floor slid away. For a moment, they just stared at the ring.

The stone. The Resurrection stone.

He'd stumbled upon the tale by complete accident, but…it had got him thinking.

The Resurrection Stone brought back the soul of the dead, the Inferi spell the body and the Horcrux secured the soul in the world…so if he combined the three of the things on Harry, he might just be able to keep Harry's soul and body like it was, but in the past.

Sure, the other may not have been happy about leaving his friends to disappear into an oblivion of non-existence, and the magic involved would be complex and probably not to Harry's taste if his reaction to Horcruxes alone was so dire.

But…he'd get over it, surely?

He'd got used to being in the past before.

It was perfect if he could get it to work, much better than Harry's plan which at best, or so it seemed, would free him and destroy Harry…he could do what he wanted and have Harry.

Harry would probably put up a fuss if he knew about the plan, growing for a while now and edited as it went, so he just wouldn't tell him.

He was sure he'd be able to push Harry into the necessary murder…of Voldemort if it had to be.

By the end of the year, everything would be in place.

"How are we getting it out then?" Harry asked.

* * *

A/N: Well, enjoy. I hope. =) What do you think of Tom's plan?

Christmas Challenge: Anyone feel like writing a Fate's Favourite oneshot? Winner gets on Destiny's Darling (if they want, you can post it yourself) and a request, though I suppose that's not that special. It's just that most of the stories I'm reading aren't being updated, sadly, so I'm feeling slightly at loss. And yeah. It's Christmas, so…presents? Haha. Anyway. Whatever.

And wow, some of my chapters are getting long…


	112. Chapter 111

Chapter 111: (hehe)

They sat on the hill leading up to the Graveyard, though it was hidden from view by the Riddle House. It may have been a bitterly cold night, with the dregs of winter still clinging to the overcast sky, but they were so wrapped up in heating charms that they couldn't really tell.

Harry was just glad it wasn't raining.

Tom had slid the ring on his finger, straight after he'd adjusted the decaying curse upon it only to harm anyone who he didn't want to take it. The ring also wouldn't affect anyone who came in contact with it while it remained on Tom's skin, and the Horcrux appeared dormant, or Tom had, at least, made no attempt to communicate with it.

Silently, Harry held out a hand in request.

Tom glanced at him, a taunting gleam in his gaze and, smirking mockingly, he took Harry's offered appendage and lowered their hands to lie, fingers still entwined, on the grass between them.

Harry yanked his hand free, scowling.

"I meant give me the ring, not your hand," he snapped, though his lips twitched slightly with amusement.

"I know, that's why I took your hand instead," the smirk vanished. "I did say I'd stop you. You can't have it, and I wouldn't recommend trying to steal from me a second time."

"So, you're just keeping it to spite me?" Harry accused, the anger overtaking any amusement.

Tom simply stared at him, and eyebrow raised as if to ask 'your point?'

"I'm trying to help - you said you hadn't given up! Why won't you let me even try?" Harry demanded.

"I'm not stopping you from _trying_, feel free to _try_ and take it from me…" Tom drawled. "I just don't expect you to succeed and I doubt you would like the consequences of your attempt."

"If I can get it off you, will you let me keep it?" Harry asked, carefully. "If you're so sure I'll fail." The Slytherin Heir was still, thinking it over, but Harry knew he loved a challenge. He thrived on them. He would accept…he had to. "Unless," he added slyly, "you're scared that I'll manage it?"

Tom spread his hands as if to say go ahead, and flopped back down on the grass with a vaguely entertained, part wistful, part fascinated and 100% determined expression.

There was a silence.

Harry resisted the urge to immediately lunge, knowing Tom was currently prepared for such an attack. This wasn't a Gryffindor game they were playing.

Instead, he lied back too, looking up at the stars.

On this hillside, it could be anywhere in the world, and it was easier to forget where exactly they were.

"Freedom and bravery," Tom mused, quietly. "High praise from the prince of the lions."

Harry flushed slightly, embarrassed. "Don't tell me I've inflated your horrendous ego further," he said. "I can roll in your bad qualities too-"

"-if you could, would you start over? Let everything go?" Tom asked suddenly, studying the sky above them as if he could read its secrets, but turning to flash him a quick, beguiling grin. "No expectations. No Boy-who-lived. Just exploring the world, never look back."

"I-" Harry paused.

In a way, it sounded wonderful, in another…how could he just leave everyone? His friends, Sirius…his expectations. He hated the expectations, but, he wasn't brave enough to actually do it, flee them.

He'd miss everyone too much, and miss the good stuff. And yet, it would be an escape from the bad. So much _bad_ sometimes…

"I don't know."

"What if I knew a way you could?" Tom questioned. Harry looked at him sharply, sitting up.

"What do you mean?" he demanded. "Do you know a way?"

"It was a hypothetical question," Tom said, before flashing him another smirk. "Why, that sounds like you _are_ interested? We could go anywhere, do anything that we wanted…"

"We?" Harry enquired, cautiously.

"Well, considering you can't walk more than ten metres away from me..," Tom replied lightly. Harry snorted, but a grin tugged at his lips, albeit a slightly sad one.

"Oh yeah, we could start with Paris, work our way around the world. Our grand future."

"You know you'd have fun with me," Tom winked. Harry laughed, before shaking his head, mirth gone.

"No doubt," he murmured. "But I couldn't leave everyone and you're currently hightailing it down a path I have no desire to follow you down." He looked over once more, seriously. "You could, of course, change that and give me the ring."

"I could," Tom said, in a thoughtful tone of voice. "But I won't."

"Why not!" Harry demanded, frustrated beyond belief. It was the logical course of action.

"Because it's so much more fun watching you struggle," Tom replied flippantly. Harry narrowed his eyes, looking away.

"Are we heading back to Hogwarts, then?" he asked, tightly. Tom studied him, intently, eyes piercing.

"This really bothers you, doesn't it?" he asked, softly. Harry started.

"The Graveyard…? Don't start, you know it does," he replied tersely. Tom shook his head.

"Not the Graveyard…I mean all of this…this whole situation. My being here, my becoming Voldemort. Horcruxes. Fate. Everything."

Harry swallowed.

"You're only just picking up on the fact that you becoming Voldemort bothers me?" he questioned, incredulously, perhaps evading the bigger question.

"No, I know you're not happy about that-" Understatement. "-But, do you…is it worth it, to you? All of this? Or would you rather have never met me?"

There was no accusation in the other's voice, only curiosity. Harry bit his lip.

"I don't know," he said, honestly, not sure how to express his answer.

When things were good between them, he wouldn't have ever dreamed of giving whatever they had up…but when it was going bad it was really bad and he genuinely hated the other boy sometimes, and would rather never have even heard his name.

"It…depends on my mood," he said finally, perhaps feebly.

"And what's your mood at the moment?" Tom's head tilted.

"Confused. Irritated. Curious. Same question back at you - do you regret meeting me?"

"Every day and never," Tom replied promptly, causing another laugh to startle out of Harry's mouth, but he kind of found himself agreeing with the answer in a way, even if the answer made no sense while being the perfect answer simultaneously.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I guess that's pretty accurate." He couldn't imagine not meeting Tom, and not having Tom around anymore.

Salazar.

If things went wrong Tom wasn't going to be around in a couple of months, not really, not truly. He…what would he _do?_

Tom had somehow snuck so far into his life that his absence left huge, gaping abysses in both routine and spontaneity. That really wasn't good.

"We're so screwed up…" he muttered.

And then he leapt for the ring.

* * *

Tom abruptly clenched his hand into a fist again, making sure that even if Harry could somehow keep him still, he wouldn't be able to slide the ring off.

The wind was knocked out of his chest at the weight of impact, and for a while it seemed Harry was winning, the more dominant…and maybe in a fair fight, Harry would win.

If they fought fairly, Harry would probably have a lot more victories on him, especially in their few physical fights considering the other was the better muggle fighter.

This wasn't a fair fight, and he couldn't risk losing. His magic lashed out, pinning Harry's left arm to the spot, and then the rest of him.

The other glared at him, ferociously, with enough venom to almost make him want to inch back several metres.

"**That's cheating."**

"**I never promised to play fair,**" he hissed in return, settling to sit next to Harry's frozen form.

He looked down, studying, restraining his amusement at the sight. He could see Harry's muscles were straining with the effort to move, and he managed to lever himself into a half sitting position, but both forearms were well and truly stuck to the ground, as if snakes had wound round them like manacles from the ground.

"Nice try though. You almost had it for a second or two."

"You're a bastard," Harry stated, flatly. Perhaps, but he was a bastard with plans at any rate. Nonetheless, he didn't want Harry to start sulking again. Even if it was, possibly, justified sulking.

"You know I haven't given up, perhaps you should trust that I am not preventing your idiotic actions solely out of spite…?" he suggested. Harry returned his gaze warily, assessing the truth of his claims.

"The problem with that is I don't trust you, and the implications that you do have an over-arching plan isn't all that reassuring either as apparently I wouldn't like it and would never go along with it."

"Now you know how I feel," he remarked dryly. "I have no fondness for your schemes either, the only difference is that we're just more open with your plan and my trying to stop you."

Harry had suddenly gone very quiet, with a thoughtful, distant glaze in his eyes.

"You don't plan to become Voldemort, do you? All that's just to stop me looking further into what you were actually doing behind the largely defeatist attitude."

"Clever boy," he smirked. Harry appraised him shrewdly.

"So why are you admitting to the façade now?"

"Because I want to give you time to accept it, I wasn't lying about that," he replied, easily, watching for the reactions, and keeping a mind out for any particularly strong emotions.

"You said you wanted me to join you, willingly," Harry stated. His smirk broadened. He had indeed. It wasn't his fault that Harry had taken that to mean in terms of Dark and Light sides rather than time periods and time streams…not that he wasn't trying to convert Harry to the Dark side as well.

Harry's brow furrowed.

"But that makes no sense, because there's no _me_ to join you if there's no Voldemort, and if there's a Voldemort there's no _you_ for me to join."

He surveyed Harry with a small measure of entertainment, Golden Boy really didn't seem to realise how fascinating his thought processes were when he deigned to go through them aloud.

"Are you going to explain what your plan is?"

"No," he said. "You'd try and stop me."

"Then why are we having this conversation?" Harry asked suspiciously, before his eyes widened. "You're trying to assess my reactions and what I _think_ your up to, and the direction I believe they're taking."

His mouth promptly clamped shut, disappointedly.

Tom said nothing in response.

The truth was, this whole conversation, from freedom and fresh starts to more obvious plans, had been designed to test how receptive Harry would be once he won, and what measures he'd have to go to once Harry was back in the time period he should have been born in.

He'd got that part correct.

Currently it was mixed signals.

Harry would be okay with the vague, broad aspects of his plan, but thrash and struggle against the details and the specifics. It was an improvement.

Before, Harry would have just completely thrown the whole idea out the window as an atrocity. Still, even if Harry was outwardly accepting, he probably wouldn't tell him - one, because of false hope, and two because Harry was unlikely to fully accept it on an inner level so it was best to just drag him along to the point that he no longer had the option of doing anything about it.

He'd get over it. And if he didn't, his memories could always be altered just a little bit, to make him accept it.

Harry had accepted a life in the past before, after all, when he thought he wouldn't be able to return.

What was the difference this time? He wouldn't be able to go to a future that didn't exist so ultimately he would have no choice but the deal with it. Of course, getting the spell right would be difficult, but he could do it….

The winner takes all, after all.

* * *

"Are you going to let me up?" he asked, when Tom gave no reply.

He hadn't truly expected one, but now that he had confirmation of a plan, he would find out what it was and stop it.

If Tom was refusing to reveal what it was, it most definitely wasn't going to be anything good for him, even if in Tom's psychopath logic there were no problems in the idea. He repressed a shudder.

Was it something to do with the Horcruxes? Perhaps the ring specifically, as he seemed protective of it to an extent he hadn't been with Marvolo.

"Are you going to attack me again?" the Slytherin Heir returned. He wasn't going to make any promises.

"Does it make a difference? Considering we can't get more than ten metres from each other, you're going to have to allow me movement at some time, unless you want to sit on this hillside forever?"

"I can still move without you having free movement…you know I hate limitations," Tom smirked. "You'd just be dragged along the floor behind me."

Harry grit his teeth.

"Are you going to let me up or not?" he asked once more, praying for patience.

"Are you going to attack me again?" Tom returned once more, eyebrows arched. Harry glared. Tom smirked."It's adorable how you think you can intimidate me."

Harry repressed his temper with great difficulty, his jaw clenched.

"I won't attack you," he said, finally, though he was careful not to swear of promise to anything.

Plans were piling once more in his head; find a way around this restriction, and hunt the other Horcruxes free of Tom's interference.

Find out how Tom had got to the future, and study and revert the spell with Hermione's help so that he would be able to send someone back when the time was right.

Figure out how to get Voldemort to express remorse.

Get the ring off Tom.

Show down.

The other studied him for a moment in silence, then he felt the pressure on his forearms ease.

"I'm going to ignore the lack of sincerity there," the young Dark Lord said. "Because I want to get dinner, and this is a muggle town so as amusing as dragging you behind me would be, it would attract the wrong type of attention."

"As you're not forcing playing cards into my hands, should I presume we're eating out?"Tom shot him a dazzling grin.

* * *

Voldemort stared at the prisoner that writhed beneath his Cruciatus, and the brunt of his emotions. The screams were music to his ears, a sweet echo of his bad temper. He calmed down just hearing it, feeling himself gain control again as they lost it, pleading for the scraps of sanity. He'd reached his conclusion. Clearly, he had forgotten, and Tom and thus become him, because things went badly. He had to get Tom to hate Potter, hate him like he did, and see what a despicable, pathetic creature the Gryffindor Golden boy truly was. Potter was a Horcrux, so he wouldn't be killed (and Tom, the emotional child, would lynch him if he tried) but, if Tom withdrew that protection…the world was right again. And he would surely exist, because he knew himself well enough to assume that if things did go badly, his younger self would become his current self just to spite Potter. There was no other reason he wouldn't, was there? It wasn't like Tom actually cared; it was obsession, nothing more. An obsession he _would_ cure. Then he would deal with Potter, the brat would thwart him no more, and would suffer eternally for the trouble he wrought. He could scarcely think of little else. Once that was done, he would take his rightful place as the God of his new world, and no one, not even Albus Dumbledore, would be able to stop him. Now, how to break the Slytherin Duo in two…?

A/N: Enjoy =) And remember to send me your challenge entries!I got to dash…will update the AN later…thanks for the reviews. I find it amusing that most of you favour Tom's plan, when it's completely evil. and I finish formatting...


	113. Chapter 112

Chapter 112:

Lynda didn't like to think of herself as the shallow type; she got good grades at school, read more than the fashion tips in glossy magazines, but…she had to say that the two boys who she was supposed to be serving were _good-looking_, to say the least.

She could feel heat rising on her cheeks, and mentally warned herself to be professional. She wasn't going to be unprofessional and stick numbers to everyone like Natalie did.

They appeared to be around her age, maybe seventeen or eighteen, the taller one perhaps a bit older than the other was.

He was unbelievably handsome, with high cheekbones and creamy skin that made him look like a dark, Byronic hero stepped straight out of poetry.

He had an aura of confidence about him that she liked, but something that simultaneously warned her away.

Bad boy. Clearly.

The-get-to-close and I'll burn your fingers off type.

The other had the same raven hair, but messier, wind-swept in a casual way that somehow didn't look like he had a bird's nest on his head, like her attempts at achieving the same effortless manner had resulted in. He was smaller, lithe, but just as graceful as his friend/brother was even though he seemed less aware of it.

His skin was more tanned, and his eyes…he had the most _beautiful_ vivid emerald eyes. They were striking. He also had that confidence, or…dare she say it without sounding like a total pilchard, power?

She suddenly felt intimidated.

The green-eyed boy didn't have the same bad-boy aura as his companion, but there was still something about him. A danger, but it was a different type of danger.

Oh, she wanted to give him a hug so badly…but that would be a bit weird.

She noted where they sat - best seats available, and…normally reserved for any posh businesspersons passing through or couples who wanted a bit of intimate privacy.

Damn it. No. That was just _typical. _

Maybe they did just want a bit of privacy and happened to be rich enough to afford it.

Well, either way. She wasn't shallow…but nothing happened around here and she'd read too many fantasy and gothic romance books.

A girl could dream, right?

She persuaded Alex to switch serving tables with her.

* * *

Harry sat down, with a sigh, feeling slightly less self-conscious in the knowledge he'd done this before and that he had money on him.

And he wasn't going to compel the server to serve them alcohol! He'd decided that mixing Tom, alcohol and himself together was Bad with a capital B. And Stupid with a capital S. For good measure, he could add Disastrous with a capital D too.

They both studied the menu for a moment.

"What are you thinking of?" Tom questioned.

"You're not ordering for me again," Harry said immediately. Tom's lip twitched.

"I was merely making polite conversation," he replied, but the mischievous gleam in his eyes suggested otherwise. Harry rolled his eyes. "You were rather flustered last time," Tom continued. "I guess it must be the emotionally compromising effect of my presence."

"One day reality is going to burst that spectacularly large ego of yours," Harry stated. "When that day comes, I'm going to laugh."

"You don't like confidence in a guy?" Tom was definitely smirking this time.

Harry sneered in response, looking down at his menu again.

He ignored the fish soup - halibut, eww, and the vegetable lasagne, because as delicious as it had been Tom would be unbearable if he ordered it again.

He was going to get his own back this time. The waitress came over, smiling at them both.

"Hello, I'm Lynda; I will be your server for this evening. Are you ready to order?"

Harry spoke before Tom could say anything.

"Yes, thanks, I'll have the Spaghetti Bolognaise and he'll have the Sausage and Mash…you know the one off the children's menu?"

Harry shot the waitress an 'I know! He has such childish taste' look.

He stifled a smirk at Tom's furious expression, knowing he was going to pay for it, but unable to bring himself to care.

Payback was so sweet.

Lynda favoured Tom with what was obviously meant to be a reassuring, professional smile. He didn't expect Tom's response though.

The young Dark Lord narrowed his eyes and folded his arms in a very theatrical way, looking insulted.

"Oh my god, darling! We've been dating how long and you still can't remember I'm _allergic to Potatoes!"_ Tom shrieked. The restaurant muted slightly, with people turning to peer at them.

Harry managed not to gape, just about.

Did Tom just…he wouldn't…Tom wouldn't go there…would he? Not publicly? Just to get back for the comment…?"

You're not allergic to Potatoes!" he replied, automatically, knowing that the bizarreness of the allergy only made it worse.

Seriously. Who was allergic to Potatoes?

The Waitress had frozen on the spot, looking mortified and at loss on whether she was supposed to wait or go.

"See," Tom said, in a waspish tone of voice. "This is your problem. You never listen to anything I say! I think I'd know my allergies better than you."

Oh, that was it. Game on.

He leant forward, offering the waitress an apologetic look, long suffering, before turning to Tom.

"Sweetheart, I think you're getting confused," he said in a patient voice, resting a hand on Tom's shoulder. "You like Potatoes, remember?" He spoke to Lynda in undertone. "He's…simple-minded," he explained. "He forgets these things…it's a bad day. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience. He seemed like was doing so much better…the treatment was really helping, I wouldn't have taken him out like this otherwise, honest."

He tried to look as sincere as possible. His left arm burned.

"Oh, that's alright," the waitress said with a fixed smile on her face. She turned to Tom, in a kind voice.

"We can make you a hot dog, if you prefer, no potatoes involved, I promise."

He could practically feel Tom fuming.

"You have very pretty eyes," Tom said, suddenly, with that charming smile on his face.

The Waitress looked startled, and then blushed.

"Er, thank you…that's very sweet of you to say."

"They'd look good in my collection."

Lynda blanched.

Harry resisted the urge to face palm. Or just smash his head against the table.

* * *

They ended up having dinner, finally - Tom had Tagliateli, and Harry was more than glad to leave, genuinely surprised they hadn't been kicked out.

Sure, Tom hadn't had the Tagliateli, but considering that all the staff had given him pitying, albeit slightly unnerved, looks all night and offered him one of the children's lollipops at the door Harry considered it largely a success for him.

He'd never seen Tom's cheeks flush so much with embarrassment.

The Slytherin Heir clearly hadn't expected him to roll with it, couple thing and all.

"So, back to Hogwarts then?" Harry asked, cheerfully, smirking. Tom speared him with a foul glare.

"Feeling pretty pleased with yourself, aren't you?"

"Yup," Harry replied easily. "And you, you're looking a little bit cranky. Should have taken the lollipop."

"I should have," Tom said. "Then I could stuff it down your throat and _choke_ you with it."

"Choking people is a bad thing," he replied in a patronising tone of voice.

They stared at each other for a moment, Tom glaring, and him smirking.

Then, amazingly, unexplainably, they both just started laughing. He wasn't sure what it was. It wasn't even that funny, it had just been another power play. Maybe it was the context of it against all the serious discussions they'd had. Maybe because they weren't supposed to be laughing.

"Did you _see_ her face?" Harry demanded, desperately trying to contain his mirth and hold a straight face.

Tom nodded, unable to catch his breath…and Harry was suddenly struck with the wonder of whether or not he'd ever actually seen Tom laughing like this, so openly, so unrestrainedly.

He didn't think he had.

Some odd part of him had wondered if Tom was even capable of it. They laughed until their stomachs hurt, finally spluttering to a halt.

They sat, having sunk down long ago on the hill to stop themselves from falling over and to nurse their stitches, in silence for a bit.

His eyes were drawn to the ring that still lay on Tom's finger, and Tom caught the gaze, and immediately clenched his hands into a fist.

Harry looked away again.  
Could you get whiplash from his own mood swings?

"Tom," he said softly, not looking up, not needing to. "If you do manage to somehow fulfil a plan I don't like, and don't like it to the extent that you would never tell me it because you know I'd sabotage it, do you really think so little of me to believe that I'd just surrender to its consequences instead of fighting you on it?"

"Hmm, it's the stubborn streak," Tom murmured, and he could feel the other's scrutiny on his skin, prickling. "But…I also think you've been fighting all your life, and that you're getting tired of it. There's always going to be something to fight about, sometimes you just have to cut your losses."

"You mean give up - and do you even realise how hypocritical you sound about now? Cut your own losses and give me the ring. _Be free_."

"You really don't get it, do you?" Tom asked, in a low voice, all laughter gone. Harry glanced over.

"Get what?" he returned, nonplussed.

"**I don't **_**want **_**to be free without you," **Tom hissed. "If I did, I wouldn't be here."

Harry's mouth ran dry.

"You will though," he said, with perfect conviction. "One day. You'll look back and regret tying yourself to a path you don't follow-"

"-and people I've long since got bored of?" Tom demanded, softly, turning to face him more directly.

"_**Don't**_," Harry hissed. "Don't spin this into some soul-searching, mushy talk about feelings again."

"Since when has either one of us _ever_ been mushy?" Tom raised his brows, looking mildly offended. "I'm pretty sure I'd have nightmares if that happened."

"Well…don't _start_," he said warningly. Tom studied him, flatly. "Come on; let's just go back to Hogwarts. The staff are probably running around like headless chick-"

"-Would you say we're equals?" Tom asked.

Harry came to an abrupt halt.

"What?"

"Would you say we're equals?" Tom repeated, slowly, but somehow Harry still felt like he'd misheard.

"I, well, I'm most certainly not ever going to be submissive to you, if that's what you're after," he said.

"I'll take that as a no."

"No?" Harry frowned. "I just said-"

"Your words imply that you think I assign myself as superior to you, and that I want you to be submissive and sycophantic and Death Eater-y," Tom explained. "And you deigned to actually answer my question, going on the defensive. Hence, you're uncomfortable. Hence, you don't think we're equals."

Harry clenched his jaw.

"Equals don't have the power to drag each other around," he said tightly. Tom inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Yes, but we're not equals."

Harry's jaw clenched further at those words, an unfathomable hurt growing. Of course, he knew Tom had a humongous superiority complex, but to hear it confirmed aloud…ouch.

He was supposed to be giving some witty, acidic remark wasn't he?

He opened his mouth to speak, only for his jaw to clamp shut again as fingers gripped it, forcing his attention on default.

"However," Tom continued, "that is not to say we shouldn't be, or couldn't be, or that I don't want us to be." Harry's brow furrowed under the sudden mixed signals.

Tom's grip tightened, causing his eyes to flick back instinctively.

"If I wanted you to be submissive to me, I would have given you a _Dark Mark_, as in traditionally."

Harry stared for a moment.

"…huh?"

"Intelligent," Tom remarked dryly. Harry scowled. "Harry, we're not on equal ground because _you're_ holding back. As we've both pointed out before, I'm a Psychopath, and I'm ruthless and completely selfish. I'm not going to slow down for you."

This was the most humiliating conversation he had ever had. Was Tom getting back at him for the restaurant thing?"

"I'm not expecting you to," he began, hotly.

"-and in all fairness, you keep up pretty well, considering you're always playing one handed," Tom continued, cutting over him once more.

"-I don't play one handed-" Harry began, slightly appalled and…not worried about Tom's reaction to the fact that he had actually been 'playing' to the best of his ability.

The Slytherin tapped his lip impatiently with the hand on his jaw. Tom-speak translation: shut up and stop interrupting.

Harry jerked his head back fractionally.

"-Yes you do," Tom said calmly. "Have you not noticed that most the time when you give concessions that, shall we say, give me large amounts of power over you - for example, the mark - are because you're not fighting for yourself, you're fighting with me on behalf of other people, like your godfather or you friends or whatnot. And I, selfish bastard, am not fighting for anyone but myself. Automatic disadvantage to you as you're immediately giving far more concessions than you have to."

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry asked, cautiously.

"Because you're the most fun I've had playing this game in years," Tom said flatly. "Most people play tag-team against me and lose more than you are…one handed."

"So you're saying we'd be equal if I stepped up and actually started playing properly?" Harry questioned, wondering if this conversation was as surreal outside of his head as it felt in it.

"Yes," Tom replied, evenly, releasing him and standing up, watching him. "And considering that I am brilliant -" once again, Harry was jarred by the almost oxymoronic lack of arrogance or boast in that statement - "I'm not really in the habit of having equal people. I don't really do equals. I do followers. Masters and slaves, etcetera…"

Tom took out the pack of playing cards, the portkey, offering them to him.

"So, all in all, I'm not going to get bored any time soon. Sorry to disappoint you, golden boy."

* * *

Cygnus' insides burned with jealousy as he watched the two of them. Tom had spoken to him, hadn't looked at him, since New Years Day.

He hadn't even tortured him further!

Maybe his obsession with Potter was waning? Except that it wasn't.

It was just like he, himself, didn't even exist in Tom's world anymore. It…he didn't like it.

Surely the other would have gotten over it by now? It wasn't like Potter had _died._ His fingers curled twitchily in his shirt sleeves.

He'd been demoted, now sitting near the end of the table where no Slytherin would deign to talk to him. Even the _first_ _years_ ignored him - and it was all because of Potter.

Perfect Potter. He honestly didn't think he'd hated the other more.

Yes, apparently he was being self-sacrificing and 'oh, I won't be around anymore' and whatever that crap was, but it was total bull.

Obviously, he knew Tom would never allow that, it was just a pathetic plea for attention.

And Tom was falling for it! He actually thought Potter would seriously blow himself up into non-existence. The boy had a hero-complex, but it wasn't _that_ big.

Lestrange pressed his lips together with annoyance.  
Dumbledore had completely cut him off too, now that he had his precious Golden Boy to work with.

He was so sick of being second best to that upstart Gryffindor.

He bet Tom would pay attention if he did something to Potter again, and his Lord wouldn't kill him because that would destroy the timeline…well, that's what his Lord said was the reason.

They both knew that it was really because his Lord was trying to tell him that he still wanted him around, it was the sane, non-Potter tainted part of Tom pleading for his assistance.

Who was he to not oblige?

He stared down at the letter in front of him, the spidery writing.

_Cygnus, old friend. How would you like to join me in getting rid of Potter for once and for all? Make sure the attached gets to the boy - anonymously - and you will be rewarded. I await your owl. LV."_

He turned the device over in his hands, marginally miffed that the focus was on Potter _again_, but knowing that the Dark Lord had far more taste.

Old friend…

The Slytherin Duo wouldn't know what hit them.

* * *

A/N: So, I was going to do more in this update. But the length kind of ran away with me. And I should probably get some sleep. I hope you guys like it.

To submit an entry to the competition: either post the oneshot yourself, or send it to me in a PM =) I look forward to reading them…so excited! 

I'm still amused by how many people started defending Tom's plan after my last AN comment…oh I love you reviewers (all of you, not just the Tom defenders) you're the best…and just to point out the continue the thought, you know Tom's plan involves splitting Harry's soul without permission? And wiping everyone he ever cared about off the plane of existence? Morally wrong, ja? :D


	114. Chapter 113

Chapter 113:

Harry dragged Tom, rather forcibly, up towards the Headmaster's Office.

If his movement was restricted to ten metres of wherever Tom went, then he was just going to have to move Tom when he wanted to go somewhere, wasn't he?

He hadn't managed to get the ring of Tom yet, despite several attempts - much to the amused bemusement and horror of the Slytherins - but was working on it. The ring wasn't at the forefront of his mind, but it was better if Tom thought that was his single-minded focus.

They arrived at the Headmaster's office, despite Tom's protests to the contrary, and even threats. Harry didn't relent his grip on Tom's shirt, smug in the knowledge that when Tom wasn't fighting dirty they were pretty equal…he supposed that had been what Tom was getting at.

They'd always been equally matched when they both played entirely to win, ruthlessly, and without regard to other players. Dumbledore froze as they entered, straightening as his desk, eyeing the both of them.

"Harry…Mr Riddle," he greeted, watching the Slytherin Heir with an unreadable, albeit guarded, expression. Harry noticed his eyes had snapped to the ring, frozen.

Tom merely stared back coldly, quite obviously not wanting to be there, and not bothering to bring forth a mask to hide it either.

"Just ignore him, Professor," Harry said, lightly. "I do."

Dumbledore regarded them both for a moment, seemingly slightly unsettled and debating over what approach to take now, and what words to say. In the end, the Headmaster just inclined his head towards the familiar Pensieve.

"There are two new memories. I will…elaborate on them at a later date."

"By all means," Tom said airily, smiling dangerously, "don't hold your tongues on my account. You know I'm Harry's Occlumency teacher, don't you Professor?" Tom paused, tilting his head. "…Unless you don't trust Harry's discretion in bringing me here?"

"Something tells me he didn't have much of a choice," Dumbledore replied, his smile equally cold. "The two of you have been very close this past week."

"Very," Tom smirked, with a drawl to his voice. Harry rolled his eyes.

"How about you two have your pissing contests outside of my time? I've kind of got a busy schedule."

They both turned to look at him. He arched his brows.

"Say your piece, Headmaster, at this point it is scarcely going to make a difference."

No, that wasn't at all bitter. Dumbledore cleared his throat, casting Tom a dark look that really shouldn't have amused him so much.

"For the sake of time, then, I shall give you a quick account of Tom Riddle's last years at Hogwarts. He reached the seventh year of his schooling with, as you would no doubt have expected, top grades in every examination he had taken. His classmates were deciding which jobs they were to pursue once they had left Hogwarts, and nearly everyone expected spectacular things from Mr Riddle."

Tom looked distinctly smug, and Harry shot him a cutting glance.

"I will not go into details, for obvious reasons," Dumbledore continued tightly. "However, Mr Riddle refused all offers, and the next the staff knew he was working at Borgin and Burkes."

Harry resisted the urge to parrot the name of the shop in shock, containing his surprise, and he was very surprised. Tom…working in a shop?

As in, serving customers?

He shot the other a bewildered look, before frowning, deep in thought at the challenging expression Tom returned to him.

He thought quickly for the reasoning, before lighting upon an answer in seconds once he searched past his initial amazement, and his jaw tightened.

"Horcruxes?" he questioned, not sure which of his companions he was directing this to.

"I believe so," Dumbledore said, seeming to pointedly not be looking at the young Dark Lord who was wandering about his office, studying objects with a demeanour of nonchalance. "However, his first choice of job appeared to be to remain at Hogwarts as a teacher."

Harry didn't need to ask for an explanation this time, and the Headmaster's brow creased slightly at his lack of, apparently expected, comment.

Hogwarts was home, and held many secrets. As a teacher, Tom would also be able to continue influencing people, recruiting.

No, he could see perfectly well why Tom would want to stay.

Tom had stilled marginally in his movements, but not stopped entirely. Whatever indifference he was projecting aside, Harry knew he was paying this conversation careful attention. A thought struck him.

"Petty thing, aren't you?" he asked Tom, his eyebrows raised once more.

If Tom was a teacher, it would be Defence Against the Dark Arts, and the job was cursed; conclusion, Tom cursed the Defence Against the Dark Arts post because he didn't receive it.

"You don't think I'd make a good teacher?" Tom smirked in response. "Don't go forgetting who taught you now, darling."

"Doesn't stop you being petty," Harry argued. "The only reason _you_ had to teach me anything in the first place was because you cursed the job so almost all the teachers who would take it by my time were incompetent!"

"Details," Tom waved a hand dismissively. "Besides, I thought you didn't like lumping me with older versions of myself…let's see…we've had denial, anger, attempts at bargaining….you could have cried yourself to sleep over me, I'm not sure…so this could be…acceptance?"

"Er, no," Harry said flatly. "And I directed it at you because it's something you'd do, and Voldemort's not around for me to throw these comments at."

"The point is," Dumbledore continued tightly once more, apparently deciding the best course of action was to ignore the other person he was conversing with, for now, and to some extent. "Tom Riddle took up a job at Borgin and Burkes, where he quickly rose from the role of a mere assistance into a more…specialised role, that can only be found in a place like Borgin and Burkes, which specialised in objects with unusual or powerful properties. Mr Ridde was sent to persuade people to part with their treasures for sale, and he was, by all acounts, uncommonly gifted at doing so."

Tom looked smug again. Dumbledore waved Harry towards the pensieve.

"This, is one such scenario."

He dove.

* * *

Harrry landed, alone (Dumbledore, it seemed, was staying in the Office with Tom, and oh dear about the two of them being alone without a mediator…) in front of an immensely fat old lady wearing an elaborate ginger wig and a set of Umbridge-esque pink robes, making her look like a melting iced cake.

She was peering into a small jewelled mirror and dabbing rouge onto already scarlet cheeks with a large powder puff. A tiny, crinkly, ancient looking house elf was lacing her feet into tight satin slippers.

"Hurry up Hokey," the woman said imperiously, "he said he'd come at four , it's only a couple of minutes to and he's never been late yet!"

Harry couldn't claim to like her very much, on immediate first impressions. The women tucked away her powder puff as the house-elf straightened up.

"How do I look?" the women asked, examining herself in various angles of reflection.

"Lovely, madam," Hokey squeaked. Harry mentally responded with a resounding 'horrible.' Both mistress and elf jumped as the doorbell tinkled. "Quick, quick, he's here, Hokey!"

Harry could feel a unwanted fascination building inside him, a curiosity he really shouldn't have been having considering.

What would Tom look like this time? In an awful way, it was so very interesting comparing the different Riddle's, the path from Tom to Voldemort.

The elf returned to the cluttered room in minutes, and Harry's breath caught, much to his embarrassment, at the figure that followed.

Tom…Voldemort really, he supposed, was plainly dressed in a black suit, his hair a little longer than Harry was used to, and his cheeks hollowed.

It suited him though, he looked more…handsome than ever.

Because Tom was handsome, he did know that, he just didn't like admitting it even in the relative safety of his own head because it felt like everyone who thought they were a couple or fancied each other would swoop down and take the admittance as proof.

He could understand that Tom was more handsome than most people, without fancying the guy, right?

Harry couldn't help but wonder if the hollowed cheeks was a product of growing up, or of Horcruxes.

Tom picked his way through the cramped room with the grace of someone who'd visited many times before. He bowed (!) low over the woman's fat hand, brushing it with his lips. Harry's nose wrinkled.

"I brought you flowers," Tom said quietly, producing a bunch of roses from nowhere. Conjured, probably. Smooth. Very smooth. Ugh,

"You naughty boy, you shouldn't have!" the old lady squealed, though Harry noticed she had an empty vase conveniently on the nearest table. "You do spoil this old lady, Tom…sit down, sit down…where's Hokey…ah"

The scene continued in a similar fashion, Tom asking about some Goblin-made armour.

It was when the woman started talking about secrets that Harry suddenly started worrying about her fate.

Sure, she was a little…slavish, but Harry didn't want her to come into harm because she was stupid enough to trust the other.

"I'd be glad to see anything Miss Hepzibah shows me," Tom…Voldemort, _Voldemort_, said in that same quiet voice.

He had to stop thinking of any of these versions as Tom, it was a slippery slope and once he had no eagerness to fall down.

At least he had a name for the women. Hepzibah.

The House elf returned promptly with two boxes, and somehow, instinctively, Harry knew they'd become Horcruxes.

But which ones?

Judging by Tom's age, one of them would be Marvolo…the locket, at least from what Marvolo had told him.

Harry edged forwards, standing next to Tom, and noticing distantly how old it felt that Tom didn't automatically…shift.

He hadn't noticed before it stopped happening because he was in a memory, or even before everyone pointed out…but they both did kind of shift and _orbit_ or whatever when the other approached. He tried not to feel disconcerted, with the knowledge that he was invisible, not really there.

"I wonder if you know what it is, Tom? Pick it up, have a good look!" Hepzibah whispered.

Tom…and he was doing it again! _Voldemort_ lifted the cup by one handle out of its silken wrappings, and watching carefully, Harry thought he saw a red gleam upon T-Voldemort's features.

"A badger," Voldemort murmured, studying the engraving with the same hungry expression that Harry had seen in his eyes so many times before "Then this was…"

"Helga Hufflepuff's, as you very well know, you clever boy!" Hepzibah leaned forward, _pinching_ Tom on the cheek. Harry wondered that there was even any skin to pinch!

Rambling on about her family descent, after a moment, she hooked the cup back off from Volemort's finger and restored it to its bock, too intent upon settling it to notice the shadow that crossed T-Voldemort's face as the cup was taken away.

It was definitely Voldemort…and a few horcruxes in, perhaps?

While Tom had his bursts of emotions and mood swings, Harry knew he was fully capable of hiding them if he wanted to, and in this situation Tom would want to play his role perfectly with no slip ups. Therefore, his emotions had to be somewhat unstable by now.

He'd already killed his family, so…this was, two horcruxes in, maybe?

Ring and Diary.

Then Locket, and then…Cup? Presuming Harry himself was the seventh, and he shuddered at that, there was two more that he needed to discover.

Harry's eyes were drawn back to the scene by a flash of gold.

The locket. Marvolo…except it wasn't Marvolo yet…and since when had he started automatically calling that Horcrux Marvolo?

Voldemort reached his hand out without invitation this time, and held the locket up to the light, staring at it.

"Slytherin's mark," he stated, and Harry wondered how different his reaction would be if Voldemort remembered Tom's dealings with this Horcrux, and Harry's.

"That's right!" Hepzibah squealed. "I had to pay an arm and a leg for it, but I couldn't let it pass, not a real treasure like that, had to have it for my collection. Burke, bought it, apparently, from a ragged-looking woman who seemed to have stolen it, and had no idea of its true value-"

Voldemort's eyes flashed scarlet at her words, and Harry saw his knuckles whiten on the Locket's chain.

Oddly, though this should have driven the man in front of him as the Dark Lord, it only reminded him more of Tom because he was reacting to Merope.

The ragged-looking woman was his mother.

He winced, suddenly not sure if he wished he wasn't witnessing this or that he was corporeal enough, real enough, to say something to this half Voldemort-half Tom…because that was what he'd been juggling with since he entered, wasn't it?

This wasn't fully Voldemort, not the Voldemort he knew, but it wasn't Tom either. It was somewhere in the middle.

In the meanwhile Hepzibah blathered obliviously, and Harry could already guess that her fate wouldn't be so kind as simple robbery.

"-I thought - but a trick of the light, I suppose-" Hepzibah said, unnerved.

Harry guessed that she had, for the first and probably last time, seen the momentary red gleam in those familiar-unfamiliar eyes.

The next second he was back in the office.

* * *

As Harry disappeared into the Pensieve, Tom watched the old man warily. He had no fondness for the Headmaster/Transfiguration Professor, and they were both all too aware of that. He knew Dumbledore held no love lost for him either.

"Interesting ring, you've got," Dumbledore said lightly. He smirked in response, his eyes flicking to the wand.

"Loving the wand…it's changed since I last saw it, hasn't it? Elder now, is it not?"

"I don't know what you're up to," the man's face was lined with ice and rage, "but you should leave Harry out of it, he's-"

"-just a boy? Of no consequence to me? Incorrect on both counts, Headmaster."

The Light Lord looked very much like he was resisting the urge to use that Elder Wand of his, but Tom knew, ultimately, he wouldn't. Dumbledore meddled with many things, but time wasn't one of them.

"What do you want from him?" the old man demanded.

Tom laughed, no warmth to the sound, not like with Harry only a few days ago, but gave no reply, knowing that would only serve to infuriate and concern the Headmaster more.

Dumbledore seemed to switch tack.

"If you care about him, as you've claimed to, you would leave him be. You always break your toys eventually, Tom, you know you do."

Anger burned white hot in his stomach, but he showed none of it on his face, merely appearing thoughtful.

"Care about him? I've heard there's some debate about that…is it love? Mere obsession? A little bit of both? An opportunity to steal your Pawn and make him into a Queen for my side? Or a Prince, rather, as to my knowledge he is most definitely male…" Tom shrugged casually. "Guess you'll just have to keep guessing."

"Clearly, you do not care about him at all," Dumbledore said, voice restrained.

He couldn't help himself, winking.

"Oh, I don't know," he drawled. "Harry's a _great_ kisser. Might have to keep him."

Dumbledore's lips thinned, his gaze devoid of any twinkle or kindness.

"He's not a possession, you can't just keep him."

"He's not your lamb, you can't just slaughter him," he returned, not missing a beat.

"He's not yours, either," Dumbledore said. Tom laughed again.

"Of course he is, and jokes of possession and objectification aside, you can't have him back."

There was a tense silence, where they both surveyed each other.

"Do you know what he's planning to do?" the Headmaster asked, unreadable.

"Yes," Tom replied.

"You disapprove?" the man questioned, shrewdly.

He didn't comment.

Dumbledore ran a hand over the edges of the pensieve, staring into the liquid past.

"You've always been intelligent, Tom, surely you've worked out by now that there's no way you _can_ keep him - the past must always happen, or the present, and Harry, would be obliterated…and be it love or obsession, I don't think you want that. What you seek is impossible; let him go."

Tom rubbed a thumb across the ring, deliberately, tauntingly.

"I've always found 'impossible' to be the domain of people with no talent and no imagination. I have both. I always get what I want, old man, you should know that by now. What do I want _from_ him? I want _him_, that is all you need to know."

He studied the other, fully aware of the double meanings the Headmaster could have drawn, and indeed must have drawn by the peculiar colour he had turned, from his statement.

The stood on opposite ends of the room in silence, tense, now largely ignoring other once more.

Shortly, Harry returned from the Pensieve again. He was quiet for a moment, noticeably and curiously gaining his composure, looking around him, before sighing.

"Do I _want_ to know what the two of you have been talking about?"

* * *

"I'm sure you want to know, you have an insatiable curiosity," Tom replied promptly, favouring him with an amused expression, and a tinge of the hunger he had just seen in his older variant. "But that doesn't mean you will."

Harry noticed Dumbledore's jaw tighten, revulsion in his gaze, a mental shudder, and frowned.

"Then I'll presume myself to be the topic," he said, turning to Dumbledore. "I take it she was robbed and killed shortly after?" She, meaning Hepzibah.

Dumbledore nodded, looking tired.

"The elf was convicted by the ministry of poisoning her mistress' evening cocoa by accident."

"Memory modification, again," Harry murmured. "And the Ministry wouldn't question it, so there would be no large amount of deep investigation, only enough scandal that it took her family enough time to realise that something, the next two Horcruxes, was missing."

With a sharp glance at Tom, he didn't elaborate. The locket felt hot and guilty around his neck.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, regarding him with that same surprise.

"He's not stupid," Tom remarked, in a reminding, slightly sing song voice.

"I never said he was," Dumbledore snapped back, causing Tom's smirk to broaden. Harry rolled his eyes, it was becoming a regular occurrence.

"By all means, feel free to detach yourself from each other's throats any time you please," he said dryly.

There was a moment of quiet, and then Dumbledore moved to scoop the last memory out, and pour another memory in its place.

"After that memory, Mr Riddle resigned his post and vanished, it took another ten years before he resurfaced - with the next memory, if you will."

"Whose memory is it?" Harry asked, walking over.

"Mine," Dumbledore said.

The next second, he landed in the office he had just vacated.

* * *

Fawkes was slumbering happily on his perch, and a very familiar looking Headmaster.

The younger Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for something, and sure enough, moments after his arrival, there was a knock on the door and a command to 'Enter.'

Harry couldn't stifle his gasp.

This was definitely not Tom any longer.

Ring.

Diary.

Locket.

Cup.

The other Horcrux.

Perhaps even in the sixth, the last before Harry himself?

But probably five, at this point.

Voldemort's features were not those of the snake-faced man who had risen from the cauldron; the eyes were not yet scarlet, though the whites were had a permanently blood shot appearance, and the pupils were not yet slits either.

However, it was as though his face had been burned and blurred; oddly waxy and distorted, not quite mask like yet, but getting there.

He was wearing a long black cloak and his skin, always pale but more in a healthy ivory/creamy tone, was now as pale as the snow that glistened on his shoulders.

Harry swallowed, feeling sick.

No, this was closer to Voldemort than his Tom, whereas the last had been more Tom than Voldemort. This was obviously an appointment.

"Good evening, Tom," Dumbledore said calmly. "Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you," Voldemort said, taking the seat. His voice was higher and colder than before, losing the easy, smooth baritone that Harry knew so well.

In a way, more than the face (which was an appalling difference) it was the change in voice that jarred him.

"I heard that you had become Headmaster…a worthy choice."

"I am glad you approve," Dumbledore smiled. "May I offer you a drink?"

"That would be welcome, I have come a long way."

Dumbledore stood and swept over to the cabinet that now kept the Pensieve, but was then full of bottles. He handed Voldemort a goblet of wine and poured one for himself, returning to his own seat behind the desk.

"So, Tom…to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Voldemort didn't answer immediately, merely sipping his wine.

It was Chardonnay, though Harry knew that Tom, at least, favoured red over white.

"They do not call me "Tom" any more," he said, and Harry cringed violently, "these days I am known as-"

"I know what you are known as," Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. "But to me, I'm afraid, you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers, I am afraid, that they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings."

He raised his glass as if in toast, but Harry knew it was a jab, a mock, and felt the atmosphere in the room change in a way very familiar to the shifts of the Slytherin Common Room.

Dumbledore's refusal to use Voldemort's chosen name was a refusal to allow Voldemort to dictate the terms of the meeting, and anyone with any political or Slytherin awareness would view it as such.

"I am surprised you have remained here so long," Voldemort said after a pause. "I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school."

"Well," Dumbledore was still smiling, "to a wizard such as myself, there can be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills, helping hone young minds. If I remember correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching too."

Passing on ancient skills? So long as they were light of course, Harry thought, before being surprised by his own scathing.

The conversation continued, following how Dumbledore had been requested to be minister numerous occasions, and refused each time.

Then Voldemort asked to teach.

Harry felt an odd pang of sadness…Tom, _Tom_ not this creature, would have, not that Harry would tell him, made a brilliant teacher. Harry knew well enough by now that he knew how to cater his methods to his individual student, even if he wasn't perhaps the most patient of kindly of professors. It was a waste.

Dumbledore considered Voldemort over the top of his goblet.

"Yes, I certainly do know that you have seen and done much since leaving us," he said quietly. "Rumours of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them."

Voldemort's expression remained impassive.

"Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore."

They continued tossing jabs for a while, remarks on greatness and knowledge.

"-I play myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

"And what will become of those whom _you_ command? What will happen to those who call themselves - or so rumour has it - the Death Eaters?"

He could tell Voldemort didn't expect Dumbledore to know the name, and he knew that Tom wouldn't have.  
And he really needed to stop comparing them...counting the similarities and the differences in twisted tally.

"My friends," Voldemort said, after a moment's pause, "will carry on without me, I am sure."

"I am glad to hear you consider them friends," Dumbledore said. "I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants."

"You are mistaken." There was a smirk in Voldemort's gaze though.

"Then if I were to go to the Hog's Head tonight, I would not find a group of them - Nott, Rosier, Mulciber, Dolohov - awaiting your return?"

Harry blanked at the uncomfortable reminder of what happened to his Slytherins, to Zevi, and Alphard, Abraxas and even Lestrange.

Lestrange would have been there, at the Hog's Head, so what had Tom ordered him to do instead?

In the end Dumbledore refused the job offer, questioning why 'Tom' would seek a job he didn't want.

Harry knew it wasn't so simple.

Tom, and even Voldemort, had wanted that job, it was the old argument of the Dark lord, young or old, always having more than one motive.

Just because he had other reasons to be there…like to hide a Horcrux, maybe? That didn't mean he didn't want the job.

He appeared back in the office, feeling solemn.

"_Then we have nothing more to say to each other…"_

The more he found out, the less he wanted to know.

But he needed to track down that cup.

* * *

A/N: Wow, that chapter was long. The longest chapter I will ever write, probably. If you recognise it, I'm quoting HBP, I do that a lot this time around. I thought this chapter was long enough with adding stuff. Whew. I hope you liked it, sorry if it was more of a plot chapter than a character chapter so much, but you need both don't you?

Thank you for all the amazing reviews, they are much appreciated. I will not comment on the subject of Tom's plan anymore, in fear I will reveal more than I mean to, as, obviously, I know how the story ends ;)


	115. Chapter 114

Chapter 114:

Harry had decided that he need Hermione and Ron's help - especially Hermione's.

If anyone could match Tom in terms of spell work and talent it was her. Even if Hermione wasn't as powerful as Tom, she was just as clever, even if she doubted that.

Just as talented. The power wasn't necessary for this anyway, he needed Hermione to create a spell to send someone back in time, not actually cast it.

Now, he just needed to find a way to tell her/ask her about doing this for him, without Tom being aware of it.

That was the real problem, considering he still couldn't move more than ten metres from the Slytherin Heir, and the Slytherin Heir had no patience for his Gryffindor friends…though he didn't seem to hold Hermione in such contempt.

And then he needed to find a way around the restriction itself in a more permanant manner - which was a problem that he might have to solve himself. Maybe he could get Marvolo to help him with the mark? If he knew how it worked, then surely he could manipulate it?

Though the best thing would be for him to just get rid of the snake entirely, as offensive as Tom might find that. Either that, or he could find something to blackmail Voldemort or Tom with, so that they would remove the mark and/or restriction for him.

Oddly, that would work better with Voldemort than with Tom, because him and Tom already had a bunch of issues and points and concessions they were struggling over, that blackmail had no guarantee of working so well. Blackmailing Voldemort could work however…if he could find out what was at the end of that black marble corridor, for example, he could use that if it wasn't too lethal.

The Dark Lord was obviously interested by it.

Harry sighed, wondering when he'd become this knee deep and used to power plays and blackmail. His eyes scanned the Great Hall as he thought, before fixing on Pansy.

Pansy had said she'd supply him with information…but did that extend to acting as a go between him and his friends? If he scrawled a letter, he could hug her and give it to her that way...to give to Hermione.

Or, he could just send a letter with Hedwig, except it would be easy enough for Tom to work out his intentions and who he was mailing, as well as intercept the letter and he was pretty sure intercepting his mail was something Tom would be controlling enough to do if he thought it would benefit him.

Speaking of mail; a school owl swooped down towards him, dropping a package that narrowly missed his plate.

Harry frowned slightly, not expecting post, and somewhat intrigued as it would have to be from a fellow Hogwarts attender with the owl choice.

He glanced up at Dumbledore, wondering if it was from the Headmaster, though he could scarcely think what the Headmaster would send him that he couldn't have given him the night before.

He opened it, noting the standard packaging, only for his head to tilt as a small device, looking a bit like a bracelet fell out into his hand.

He realised belatedly that he should have checked it for curses first.

Still, nothing happened, and he studied it.

"What's that?" Alphard asked, around a mouthful of pancake. Zevi's eyes widened as he leaned closer.

"Is that-?" Abraxas began, with a sharp look at Tom.

Harry's hand immediately curled tighter on the small band. It thrummed with magic.

"What is it?" he asked.

No one answered him.

He turned to look at Tom, his eyebrows arched. Tom's gaze was fixed on the bracelet with a dangerous gleam.

"Tom?" he prompted, knowing from experience that none of the other's would respond if they thought their lord wouldn't want them to.

The young Dark Lord's gaze cut up to Draco, who paled and promptly shook his head.

"I didn't send it - I swear!" the present day Malfoy said, with a hint of desperation and pleading.

Why would Tom assume Malfoy sent it…remembrall…so was this something to do with memory? He asked again, more impatiently this time, and Tom's gaze turned to him from spearing Draco with the glare equivalent of Basilisk's venom.

The blonde seemed to almost sag in relief when he was released from the stare.

"It's a device that stops your memories from being modified," Tom explained, quietly. "It's called a Munin Band."

"You have one," Harry confirmed, remembering how dismal his attempts at obliviating the other had been. Tom seemed to remember it too, because his lips twitched slightly, before he was serious again.

"Yes."

Harry was silent for a while, studying the band.

"Have you obliviated me again?" he demanded warily, and with a definite edge of danger and menace to his tone that had the other Slytherins, barring Tom, leaning away.

"No," Tom replied, with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

"Then why are you so seemingly so disturbed that I now have a Munin Band in my possession?" he asked.

"Because I hate limitations," Tom returned with the type of psychotic admittance and honesty only the young Dark Lord seemed capable of using. His feelings of annoyance were also apparently over taking the amusement.

"So you would obliviate me again?" Harry verified furiously.

Tom just stared at him with a 'so what' look in response.

"Right," Harry said decisively, slipping the band onto his wrist. "Thanks to whoever gave me this then."

"Do you not wonder why they gave you it?" Tom questioned, not appearing at all pleased.

"If it benefits me, I don't particularly care as to their motives," Harry shrugged.

"It could be cursed to control you," the other pointed out. "If that someone knew you would be unable to resist using the Munin Band."

"And I dare say having my memories wiped would also be a rather effective way to control me too, and, frankly, is a vulnerability I would rather not have, all things considered," Harry said coolly.

Tom's jaw tightened.

* * *

Hermione turned the corridor, her thoughts spinning.

Harry had sent her a letter through none other than Pansy Parkinson earlier that day…and since when had Harry and Pansy been close?

She bit her lip, trying to ignore the becoming familiar feeling and realisation that she didn't know Harry as well as she used to.

They were still close, still best friends, and she knew Harry would do anything for her and Ron, and she would do anything for him…but it wasn't quite the same.

They'd, or rather he'd, changed too much.

She'd got closer to some other Gryffindors though, and had come to the conclusion that as much as she had loved the closeness she'd had with Harry and Ron, it had been somewhat excluding to other members of their house.

She'd found more of a friend with Neville, who often hung out with her and Ron now.

And Ron…it had taken a while to settle into a comfortable pattern with Ron without Harry acting as buffer between them. There had been several confrontations, and realisations without the façade of bickering and the wall of Harry between them…but…things were better now.

She smiled slightly to herself.

Sure, Ron wasn't always the brightest crayon in the box, but he was sweet when he tried, and funny, loyal, brave and kind.

Yes, he could be insensitive and tactless and obtuse, but his heart was in the right place and she'd found that if she actually told him why his actions or words had bothered her, that he did his best to stop so as not to hurt her feelings.

She turned another corridor, only to walk smack into another figure, stumbling.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she began, before freezing as she noticed who she'd walked into…er, literally.

Oh no. Now she was sorry.

Tom Riddle stared back at her, straightening out his robes.

"Hermione," he greeted, no inflection in his voice.

She couldn't help but note that he'd switched from the "Granger" he'd used last time they talked, when he'd dragged Harry off down a corridor.

"Tom," she replied, with a hint of wariness. "Where's Harry?"

"Quidditch Practise."

She studied him for a moment, before abruptly pulling her bag closer and walking past him with another "excuse me, sorry I walked into you."

"You know," he called after her, lazily, "you never did reply to me. That's rather rude."

She turned, slowly.

"Reply?"

"Lestrange," he clarified.

Right.

That.

Anger surged through again at the thought of the slimy, obsequious prat.

"I don't really agree with torturing people," she said, "as much as he'd deserve it."

"Well, that's a disappointing change of opinion," he drawled. "I suppose I couldn't expect too much strength of character from a women though, and not even that, a girl."

He turned away without another comment.

She blinked, and then the anger sharpened to fury as his words sunk in.

"_Excuse me_?" she spat, marching after him, and forcibly turning him to face her. "What did you just say? This isn't the 1940s anymore!"

"I hardly see how the date makes that much difference," he said, with a dangerous expression at her having stopped him.

Her eyes narrowed in return, fear currently quelled by rage.

"It makes a difference in that people will - rightfully! - lynch you if you say such sexist things nowadays. Women are just as good as men, and I am just as good as you, and just as capable of holding an opinion and sticking to it," she replied venomously.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," he drawled. His ego was so huge it was unbelievable!

"Well, _Harry_ seems to think I'm as good as you," she said, smiling sweetly at him.

She honestly didn't know what made her say it, but she knew it struck gold because his eyes abruptly darkened and his magic simmered before he took more careful control over it.

She suppressed a shudder anxiety at the feel of it, the imminent threat, and didn't back down, meeting his cold gaze defiantly.

"Harry," Tom began, his voice dangerously soft, "also has this habit of being uncommonly kind to people and fighting for the underdog. I'm sure he was simply trying to make you feel better, he does that, though it's sweet that you believed him."

She felt his words stab precisely at doubts she already had, growing for months now, and then, she felt those doubts lash out in her defence to find something of his to _wound._

"Is that why he tells you that you're his friend?" she asked, her smile fixed.

He went very still, and her conscience rushed back with waves of hot shame and a thrill of terror. She felt awful. She shouldn't have said that. It was uncalled for. She shouldn't sink to his level…he just made her so angry!

He smiled, that charming, chilling smile and took a step closer to her, practically hemming her in as he so often did with Harry.

"So, you think you're on par with me then, do you?" he murmured. "I suppose dating idiots like Weasley might give you a false impression of your worth, but really, such arrogance is unattractive in someone like you. I'd work on that, no one wants a know it all with attitude problems…and you're no model to compensate that either."

She had never felt so…humiliated and…mad!

Without second guessing or considering the consequences of her actions she reacted.

His head cracked back as she punched him across the face - punched, not some girly slap - and she felt an odd sense of satisfaction to see the red growing on his cheek.

"You know," she said, coolly, rapidly, "putting other people down to make yourself feel higher doesn't actually make you any better. It just makes you a pathetic little bully…and with the way you hate everyone, you must absolutely _loathe _yourself-"

She had her wand out the same time as he, her heart thudding with adrenaline in her chest. There was no expression on his features now, none at all, and in a way that was even more frightening than any anger he could have shown.

"You're are exceedingly lucky that Harry is fond of you," Riddle spat.

"-Or what? Otherwise you'd hospitalise me?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

They glared at each other for a moment.

"You should get over yourself," she said, tiredly.

Then she walked away.

* * *

"Tom, would you be willing to drop the, er, restrictions for a bit?" Harry asked, as he caught sight of Luna.

Maybe she, with her knowledge of strange things, would know of any significant magical rings? After all, there had to be a reason that Tom was so particularly protective of the ring Horcrux, and he was waiting on Hermione for the spell, and needed to work out how to get rid of the leash, or, at least, how to blackmail either Tom or Voldemort to get rid of the restriction for him….so working out what it was that Voldemort wanted from the black marbled corridor place.

He had no idea where to start on those things.

Therefore, really, looking into the ring was the only productive thing he could currently do, and he was itching to do something. Sitting here doing homework as the clock counted down was driving him insane.

"Why?" the Slytherin Heir asked, not looking up.

"Cause privacy is a nice thing," Harry replied flippantly.

"And I'm obviously in the habit of doing nice things for you, is that it?" Tom questioned, making a small thoughtful humming noise.

"Not really, but this would be a _great_ place to start," he said cheerfully.

"No."

"What do you mean _no_?" Harry demanded, frustrated, beyond frustrated.

"Well, the general dictionary definition of the word suggests I mean I am giving a negative response to your request, to either refuse, deny or disagree with some aspect of it. Of course, I could also be indicating disbelief, for example 'no! this can't be happening', but to simplify it for you further darling, I mean the first," Tom replied, calmly. "I won't drop the, er, restrictions for a bit. You can talk to your girlfriend another time."

"My girlfriend -?" Harry asked, confused. "What are you on about? I don't have a girlfriend, _you_ make it impossible for me to get a girlfriend because everyone thinks we're gay!"

"I meant the crazy blonde girl you're looking to stalk," Tom said. His eyes sliced upwards for the first time, stormy and conversely unreadable simultaneously. "That's why you want the restriction to drop, isn't it?"

"Luna? Well, yeah, I want to _talk_ to her, note, talk _not_ stalk, but she's not my girlfriend, she's just a friend…who's a girl."

"Then by all means, call her over and talk here," Tom said, with a hint of challenge in his voice.

"This is ridiculous! I've not been more than ten metres away from you in days, aside from Quidditch Practise, and even then, you've tugged me back after forty five minutes!"

"That was kind of the point," Tom deadpanned. "Well, make your point and move on," Harry snapped, tossing his hands up in the air, his irritation at his own lack of control and freedom bubbling to the surface.

For several days now, he'd been patient, patient to a saint-like level, but he was no saint and he had a freaking couple of months to do the impossible and he didn't have the time to be so _restricted, _nor the disposition for it.

Tom gave no reply to that, turning his attention back to whatever it was he was working on now.

Harry sighed, studying the other, before standing abruptly and walking around the table to sit next to Tom. The other's head tilted with a slight curiosity.

"What's wrong?" Harry demanded, folding his arms, keeping his voice low. "You've been in a foul mood since breakfast. Is it the Munin Band?"

"Now who's trying to flip everything into a mushy talk about feelings," Tom remarked.

Harry scowled, but knew that to back down now would be a failure.

"I'm your friend, I'm allowed to be concerned when you temper turns sour, especially as we both know you have sadistic psychopath tendencies to torture other people to appease said temper," he replied, cautiously.

Tom blinked.

"Concerned I'll snap and attack you while you're incapable of running away?" the other drawled.

"Is that likely?" Harry returned, his eyebrows raising once more. Tom laid his quill down, appraising him in return.

"Why are you suddenly so eager to talk to the blonde?"

"Because I like _Luna_ - and not like that, before you start!" Harry added.

He wasn't going to go into the specifics of why he was researching the ring. If Tom thought he was seeking out what he was planning, then he would go to more efforts to hide it.

"You like your best friends too. Why her?" Tom questioned, insistently, suspiciously.

"Careful, you're starting to sound jealous," Harry stated flatly.

The Slytherin Heir once again said nothing in response, merely shooting him a withering expression.

It was somewhat…unusual, that silence and lack of repartee, or even mocking innuendo, and it drew his attention away from Luna quite effectively.

Yes, he wanted to be productive, but…he couldn't in good conscience leave Tom if he was genuinely upset about something.

"You know," he said, quietly, silently praying that he wasn't getting the complete wrong idea because that would be highly awkward and Tom would never let him live it down. "I'm not going to run the second you give me the opportunity to. I was never really going to."

Tom's eyes flicked to him.

"Is that your theory as to why I'm keeping you locked from walking more than ten metres away from me?" he asked. "Because in all truthfulness, it's more that I just don't trust you enough to leave you to your own devices. You have a reputation for sabotage."

"Yeah, that is my theory actually," Harry said lightly. Tom stared at him.

"You should work on a new theory. Your current one is abysmally incorrect," the other stated. "And even if your theory was correct, you shouldn't make promises we both know you're not going to keep. Everyone leaves eventually."

Harry swallowed.

"If everyone leaves eventually, perhaps you should stop trying to convince me you won't get bored then? Or, you know, plotting, because if everyone leaves you might as well get it over with while doing us both the favour of not becoming Voldemort at the same time."

"You two are very sweet in how you love each other," a voice remarked, out of nowhere.

Harry nearly jumped out of skin, wand in hand almost instantly.

While he and Tom did have an unfortunate habit of getting into this types of uncomfortable, not manly enough conversations, they never had them publicly.

_Luna?_

The blonde plopped down onto a chair in between them, smiling dreamily.

"Many people would say you need a therapist, which is silly, because you two actually talk about your feelings more than most couples."

"I'm not gay!" Harry snapped, exasperated.

"I don't love anyone, I'm a Psychopath you _stupid_ girl, and I'm certainly not sweet!"

"There's no need for raised voices," Luna said mildly. "And that's a very Freudian angle, Harry Potter. I always thought that you could love someone without wanting to have sexual intercourse with them, in a familial way for example, but maybe I was wrong."

Harry spluttered.

"I know you can love someone without wanting to - merlin, Luna! - I just, don't, okay. We're not in love with each other, we're just friends," he said.

"You've never been _just _friends," she replied, absently. "Even I can tell that. If you were, there'd be a whole lot of confusion and theories going around on whether or not your friends, like brothers, lovers, or enemies."

"Thank you for that opinion, it was much appreciated," Tom drawled. "Now leave and go hunt down imaginary creatures. For a long time."

"You're not very nice," Luna said, sadly, before brightening. "I can give you a magic umbrella for that. It keeps the rain away."

"I can give you a hole in the head, it keeps you from interrupting private conversations," Tom returned, scathingly. Luna smiled back at the Slytherin Heir, apparently completely unbothered by the threat.

"I'm going to get you both an umbrella," she declared. "You can decorate it together while you discuss your abandonment issues. It'll will be a lovely bonding exercise." She paused. "I think you wanted to talk to me about something Harry?"

He didn't have abandonment issues….

Okay, he would do anything to divert this conversation, and she was right, he did want to talk to her (though how did she know that!)

It was bad enough when it was just them picking through the psychological mess of their dynamic, it really didn't help that everyone else had a bizarre urge to do it too.

"Right, um, do you know anything about magical rings?" he tried, ignoring the sharpening of Tom's attention.

"…Aside from the one Sauron has?"

* * *

A/N: I'm not sure about this chapter. I don't didn't write well. ;/ Hope it's not too bad. In my defense, I'm ill. 

Hope you guys all had a great Christmas and Happy Ne w Year if I don't update before then! Thanks for the reviews. I'm posting a new poll by the way, please vote on it…

PS: Read and review Namikaze Artemis' "Because Life is Jenga." Simple but awesome. =)


	116. Chapter 115

Chapter 115:

Harry stared at her in utter astonishment for a moment.

"Who's Sauron?" Tom demanded.

"He's a Dark Lord who became famous in 1954 - he's like you, he has a magic ring that keeps him somewhat immortal."

Tom's fingers clenched around said ring protectively, his eyes narrowed.

"If there was another Dark Lord called Sauron I'd know," he said coldly, looking disturbed enough at the thought of ignorance that someone who knew him extremely well would be able to pick up on it despite masks of carelessness. That was, very disturbed.

"He's not a real Dark Lord," Harry interjected, quietly. "Luna, do-"

"-What do you mean he's not a real Dark Lord?" Luna frowned, before her expression cleared. "I know he hasn't got the fluffy white cat, but it's hardly fair to say he's not real because of that. He does still have minions and an army."

Tom opened his mouth to speak.

"-I'll explain about Sauron to you later, Tom," Harry said quickly. "Luna, aside from Sauron's, do you know any other magical rings? You mentioned Tom's…what's special about his?"

The young Dark Lord abruptly snapped out of whatever distracted state 'Sauron' had brought him too, his eyes flashing at the line of questioning.

Hands clamped down on his ears, fingernails digging into his skull in relentless grip, hauling him up off the seat. He tugged his head free before the hold could settle, dodging around the table as the other lunged at him.

"Luna…?" he prompted again, careful to keep his gaze on the Slytherin Heir.

He edged around again, as Tom followed him, wand in hand, with a horribly predatory gait.

"There's a lot of dark magic on it, but otherwise it's nothing special," Luna said.

Harry deflated, but persisted…after all, Tom seemed to think there was something about the ring, so there had to be, unless the whole thing was another red herring, and that _couldn't_ be right.

"Of course, if Tom was to present it to someone after getting down on one knee, it would become more magical," Luna said, her head tilting. "Is he planning on doing that?"

"Don't think so," Harry replied, leaping backwards out of the young Dark Lord's range once more.

Tom had an extremely dangerous expression on his face, and it only confirmed Harry's thoughts.

"There has to be something," he insisted. Luna was quiet for a moment.

"Well, the ring itself is nothing special, but I suppose you could be interested in the resurrection stone-" Harry's head whipped around, to stare at the blonde.

"The resurrection st-damn it!" he realised a second too late that it was a huge mistake to release Tom from his scrutiny, for even a moment.

He spun just as the yew dug into his jugular, and his wand aimed against the other's heart. Luna watched them, unperturbed.

And the next second Madame Pince swept them out the library in a whirlwind of indignation.

"This is a _library!"_

"-Sorry, but I just need to-"

"-Which means peace and quiet for those who want to study!"

"-I know, but-"

"OUT."

The door slammed shut behind them.

"That was fun," Luna smiled. "I've never been kicked out the library before."

Harry was yanked down the corridor before he could comment.

* * *

Rose Zeller, Hufflepuff first year, froze on the spot at the two figures who dropped to sit on a window near her hiding place.

Harry Potter and Tom Riddle. So close that if she took a few steps she'd be able to touch them!

And, oh, they both looked kind of angry.

She might have made a run for it, fleeing instead of giving them the chance of catching her unintentionally eavesdropping, but her body was frozen by fascination and fear.

She tried to keep her breathing quiet, irrationally scared that they would somehow be able to hear the frantic beating of her heart.

"What's the Resurrection Stone, Tom?" Harry demanded, his gaze piercing.

"Take of the Munin Band I'll tell you," the other returned, sweetly. Potter's eyes narrowed, his arms folding across his chest.

"Tell me," he insisted. "You know I'll just find out anyway. You're prolonging the inevitable. Tell me…what are you planning?"

The Slytherin Heir remained silent, staring back. Rose was amazed that the ground didn't start shaking with the magic clash.

She hadn't been in the magic world long, and she didn't know much about it - despite that she was okay in her classes, though she struggled with Transfiguarion - but she could tell that both of these were powerful.

She'd never talked to any of them, she was just a first year and they were Harry Potter and Tom Riddle, everyone knew about them. She'd heard the rumours though, so many rumours that flittered around like fireflies, illuminating their characters, though not always without misconception or in any manner truthfully.

They did both insist they weren't a couple…even if they seemed like one.

This conversation sounded personal.

She shouldn't be listening; but to stop listening now and move away she just knew they would hear, and know she'd listened in the first place.

Would they be angry? It was an accident!

And what was all this about plans?

The silence continued between the two of them, thick with tension and unresolved issues, until Harry broke it again, not removing his attention off the other.

"A Resurrection Stone, presumably, raises or resurrects the dead…their soul, not their body, for the body you'd use the Inferi spell. Who are you looking to resurrect, your father? Except…" here Harry paused, apparently thinking aloud, and Riddle seemed riveted by the thought process, though he gave no confirmation or denial to the validity of it. "You were testing _my_ reactions to your plan, and you talked about fresh starts…which makes me wonder if you were planning on resurrecting my soul, but that would be absurd, as I'm not dead."

"Indeed," Tom murmured. "It would be absurd, wouldn't it? The ring belongs to my family, have you ever considered that to simply be my motivation for favouring it?"

"And yet, so was the Locket," Harry replied, his fingers running along a gold chain that disappeared into his shirt. "And you have little objection to me holding onto that."

"You can't complete a puzzle with only one piece," Riddle stated. "It's when you collect more that your collection it becomes an issue, and why I would keep the ring away from you."

Harry was quiet for a moment, seemingly thinking this over, and it seemed the reference to pieces made more sense to him than it did to her.

Maybe it was a code? Her eyes lit up. She'd always loved mysteries.

"That would make sense," he admitted.

"Most of my actions do," Riddle returned dryly. "Unlike you I'm a rational creature, not an emotional wreck."

"It would make sense," Harry said, in a stronger tone, with a hint of rejection to the words his companion had just spoken, and they both leaned closer, as if the other held their gravity. "If not for the fact you tried to block me from hearing that conversation. If you cared simply because the ring was a," there was an indistinguishable hiss, parseltongue! "then it wouldn't have made a difference if I knew about is resurrection-ing properties."

"Ressurection-ing isn't a word," Tom replied flatly, but Harry seemed to take it as a 'yes' to prove his theory, or whatever, was right, because he smirked.

The smirk vanished promptly, replaced by a serious expression.

"Why do you feel the need to resurrect me, Tom?"

* * *

Harry stared at the figure in front of him, an uneasy feeling in his stomach, his instincts buzzing and warning against places he didn't want to go, much like it had when Tom had questioned him about alternate universes.

Tom said nothing for a while, studying him with an odd expression, a dark tint to his gaze.

"We have the deal of if you can get the ring off me, I'll let you keep it…now, to add another condition to that game…if I can get the Munin Band off you, I get to keep it."

"You'd obliviate me," Harry stated, with barely any accusation in his voice. Accusations made no difference, this appeared to just be fact.

"Instantly and without question," Riddle murmured, with that shark-smile, stepping closer, breath on his ear. "You're too good at sabotage, sweetheart."

Harry felt a hand on his, and automatically gripped back. To anyone watching, it would seem they were holding hands, and maybe they were, but it wasn't so cute or fluffy.

In their grip was a tangle of wants and a possessions to be fought over, their fingers another struggle for dominance. If he let go now, Tom's fingers had curled on the band, ready to pull it free, and he had hold of the ring in turn.

Stalemate.

Tom met his stare steadily, speaking as if tug or war wasn't happening. If the other got hold of that band, he could lose everything.

"Resurrecting me wouldn't keep me in this world, if I were to die," Harry said, trying to think like Tom. "So that's a shoddy back up to me dying, if that's your intention. You wouldn't like the limitation of needing a ring to hold me there either. You'd need to anchor my soul to this world, and the only magic that…" he trailed off, his eyes widening, rearing back, his back hitting the wall. Would be a Horcrux.

A Horcrux would keep a soul attached to the world.

"You're right," he said tightly, trying to restrain his tumbling emotions. "I don't like it at all. I don't want one, they're vile, and you're a bastard for even considering making one on my behalf! I like my soul intact, thanks."

The grip on his hand tightened, nearly crushing his bones.

"So give me the Munin band, and it won't weigh unnecessarily on your mind," Tom said smoothly.

"Inferi curse would raise my body," Harry continued, sick, ignoring the other's words. "The stone my soul, and the…" Horcrux. "It would bind everything into this world. I-Tom-no. I don't agree to this. That's…that's not right. Death shouldn't be messed with."

"I'm fully aware of your opinion on the matter," Tom replied, with an edge of irritation. "I just don't give a damn. Consider it merely as your good friend saving you from your own self-destructiveness."

"You're awfully convinced I'm going to die, and at the moment, my death shouldn't be at the forefront of your mind, as oblivion seems more likely. You said you had a plan to resolve this whole time thing, or at least, that's what I thought your plan was…? You said you hadn't given up…unless," Harry tried to step back again, as if space were liable to aid his mental coherency (quite possible.) "Unless, you somehow viewed oblivion to be the same as death, and I-" that was where his thought process ran dry.

And then what? Could this work as a way of keeping from oblivion, but in a new world…or the past?

He didn't know.

Confusion tugged at his mind, incessant uncertainty.

Fingers squeezed his, almost reassuringly.

He glanced down at the mark on his arm, nausea rolling in his stomach. What would that transcend? To what lengths was it a link? He swallowed.

What would cause his death, or if that twitching in his gut was correct, oblivion?

The changing of the past. Tom said he hadn't given up on being Voldemort…so he would change the past…and this…spell, or whatever, would what?

Tie him to Tom so that he survived where the rest of his world did not? T

ied to the earth by the skin of his soul, and Tom's magic.

All of his muscles tensed.

It sounded absurd…absolutely absurd…Tom didn't think it would work, would he? How could he do it in time…unless he was already working on it, and had been for some time.

"You told me the end of the year," he stated, looking down, "but you're not working to that deadline, are you? Damn you, _are you_?"

"No," Tom admitted, evenly. "I'm not."

"Then why are you stalling going back…unless," he looked down at their entwined hands, the ring on Tom's finger. "You don't…didn't have all the pieces either…and you still need to create your spell, your no doubt horrendously complex spell." The oddest sense of relief grew in his chest, warm like a candle. He started laughing, hysterically. "You're not ready yet."

"Nice to see it amuses you," Tom said dangerously, "because my no doubt horrendously complex spell is still likely to be ready before you are able to possess all the components to your own plan."

Any laughter or mirth disappeared abruptly at that reminder, filled by a terrible feeling.

"Put down the restrictions," he implored, his grip tight on Tom's hand and arm. "This isn't a game."

"No, it's not," the Slytherin Heir replied softly. "I told you that we'd _play _as equals, and right now, as you so eloquently put it, we're _not_ playing." Fury surged, and the fingers of their right hand remained locked together in battle for band and ring as Tom quickly continued. "I said you'd be able to match me, that you're my equal - my only equal, mind - so what on earth makes you think I'd give you the opportunity to beat me when the stakes are so high?"

"You realise I will never forgive you if you force me to go along with this, so the whole things moot, isn't it?"

Tom laughed, an awful, cold laugh, tinged by bitter sadness.

"I don't care if you forgive me or not. I'd rather have you alive and fighting me every step of the way than dead and boring."

Harry sucked in a sharp breath at that.

"And if I stopped fighting you-" he began.

"-Feel free to," Tom's smile was deadly. "It makes my job easier…and then, when I win, which I _will_, do you really want to see what I can come up with to get a reaction? Oh the fun we shall have."

Harry stared at him, disbelieving. Was this a joke?

"I'll stop you," he promised.

"You won't."

The certainty in the other's voice chilled his blood.

* * *

A/N: Um, so, not a super long chapter, but not shabby length either. Sorry about lack of quality. If you're worried about Harry's lack of reaction…it hasn't sunk in yet. You will get it. Thanks for the reviews, you guys are the best. 

RIP ROGER 3 My precious laptop has died on me, so my updates will probably become far less frequent until he is resurrected or reincarnated. =( I cry myself to sleep. 

Oh, and please do my new poll ;)


	117. Chapter 116

Chapter 116:

It was the middle of the night, and Harry sat up in his bed, shaking.

Automatically, he glanced over at Tom's bed, relieved to see the other still, breathing deep.

The link hadn't woken him up, Tom's scorn aside, he was getting better with Occlumency.  
He looked away quickly, not wanting to concentrate on the other, fury coating his skin as much as the lingering terror of nightmares and…visions.

Visions of that black marble corridor, one he'd seen a thousand times by now, and not just in his sleep either, he didn't think. It was on the tip of his thoughts, that place.

He knew it from somewhere. Somewhere he'd been, and not just dreamed…but where?

Trying to keep the exterior of his thoughts calm, he slipped out of bed and to the common room. His brain ached.

He stopped at the edge of the common room, locked from going any further, wishing, not for the first time, that he had Tom's intellect. Tom would be able to figure all of this out in seconds - sure, Harry himself wasn't stupid, he had his moments with the Philosopher's Stone and the Chamber, for example, but he normally needed some help. Not to mention, the pressure was on and he was playing against said genius' enviable intellect.

At least he'd always worked well under pressure.

Okay.

Places he'd been which might hold something of Voldemort's interest…a place with black matble corridors. It wasn't Hogwarts, unless it was a variant of the Room of Requirement, and he doubted that. Gringotts…? It was possible. It was nowhere in the Muggle World…Malfoy Manor? Again, possible.

Wait, Malfoy…Lucius. Something brushed at the corners of his memory, and he frowned. He'd seen Lucius Malfoy in a black marble corridor….at his hearing.

The MINISTRY!

Damn. How had that taken him so long? The ministry in which Mr Weasley had…Mr Weasley had been there when he encountered Nagini, maybe he'd been guarding whatever the hidden thing was? And, at the beginning of the year, Sirius had said Voldemort was looking for a weapon.

He'd been a bit preoccupied at the time with the thought that there was still a Voldemort, but it rang a bell. A weapon in the Ministry of Magic. Something he didn't have last.

He felt so stupid that he hadn't thought of it before, but, he was just being stupid all round at the moment, wasn't he? It was stupid taking anything Tom said as truth or close to it.

Salazar.

He dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes. He knew he couldn't trust the Slytherin Heir, he knew that it was dangerous to think he could, so _why_ did he seem to keep falling into the pattern of thinking he could? Of having all those conversations.

Sometimes he felt sick with himself.

He always claimed he was different to Lestrange or any of the many who flocked to Tom and thought they actually meant something to the young Dark Lord, but was he really? He had no guarantee that Tom wasn't just playing him like he played everyone….lies stacked upon lies with fragments of truth to glue it all together.

After the revelations of the previous day, he'd expected to feel angrier, and he _was _angry, but, more than anything, he just felt tired and uncertain. A little scared.

No one had ever paid attention to him like Tom did, with that ruthless intensity, and maybe that made him easy prey. The interest was flattering, nice, when it wasn't terrifying, and Salazar…how was he different to Lestrange?

He'd sworn he wouldn't get hooked on Tom, and now look at him, he was probably the worst out all of them, intrigued despite himself and fooling himself into believing that he was 'equal' of whatever _crap_ it was.

The thought of getting pulled across time and oblivion was petrifying, maddening…being 'saved' was a lot harder than sacrifice, at least with the latter the fight was over, if you lost. If you won, nowadays, it just meant you had another opportunity to lose.

Look at him, angsting! It was pathetic.  
He needed to think solutions.

Something in the Ministry that Voldemort wanted, something he could use. He paced towards the fire, the movement aiding his thoughts, before he froze.

He just paced…the restriction had moved.

He whipped around, to see Tom leaning in the shadows, eyes fixed on him. His jaw tightened. He didn't want to do this right now. He was too…messed up, and too busy, at that.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Tom offered, after a moment.

"Not even worth that," Harry replied, looking away. "Go back to bed. I apologise for waking you."

To his annoyance, the other simply walked further into the common room, studying him with an unreadable expression.

"I suppose it's good that your thoughts aren't worth a penny, because I don't have that on me, so you can tell me anyway," the Slytherin heir said.

"_Go back to bed_," Harry repeated, harsher this time.

"Hmm," Tom's head tilted. "Pacing…you're trying to figure something out. Up at this time, you've woken from either nightmares or visions…judging by the lack of shaking, not torture, so perhaps nightmares? Emotions…haywire. Anger. Confusion. What's confusing you, Harry?"

"You really don't know when to back off, do you!" he demanded, his voice a snarl. "Leave. Me. Alone."

"Or what?" Tom dared, eyes gleaming as he approached.  
Harry resisted the urge to give a scathing response, though it was tempting, controlling his temper. His fists curled with the effort, and he stared at the floor, breathing deeply.

When he said he was more confused and tired than angry? Lies. He'd thought he was calmer than this, he hadn't reacted so badly at the time, but now…maybe it was because Tom's plan was sinking in. The _audacity._

What right did Tom have to try and choose and dictate his life? He'd left the light in an effort to avoid just that, and the other knew it!

"You know what," he said, quietly. "I'm not going to do this now. I refuse. If you're looking for a game and a reaction you can go and look elsewhere. I'm done playing. I will stop you, and that is all there is too it. No more of your power plays, or deals, or psychoanalysis. From now on, until all this is sorted out, there is nothing between us but business."

Content to leave it at that, he walked past, figuring he would just think on his bed where it was safer. A hand caught his arm, tightly, though Tom didn't otherwise move, causing him to stop just in front and to the side of the Slytherin Heir, looking over his shoulder. His muscles tensed.

"And if I don't want a _business_ relationship with you?" Tom questioned, darkly, and Harry had a feeling he knew quite well what some people could take from that statement, and was doing it deliberately to emphasise his words.

"I don't care," he replied. "You obviously don't give a damn about my opinions and wants, so why should I cater to yours? Excuse me."

The grip tightened, and Harry could feel the other's seriousness in how the grip was still and locked, the thumbs not pressing into his skin in violent circles like they normally did, or trailing in attempt to slide the band off his wrist.

He could never decide how he felt when Tom pushed things like this, not even allowing him control over the bloody conversation. On one hand, it was infuriating, as he rather liked his freedom, thank you very much, and didn't take well to subservience of any sort…and in another way, it was also a sign that Tom actually _cared_ enough to persist, or, whatever Tom's equivalent emotion to caring was…nobody else ever really pushed back like this, unrelenting.

It was exhausting, and simultaneously thrilling, but he'd figured out that he gained his own sick sense of enjoyment from power plays already.

"So that's what this about," Tom stated quietly, and he could feel that astute gaze burning into his face. "I thought it might be."

"Well, congratulations, it seems you have me all figured out," Harry said, tonelessly. "It makes me wonder why you bother asking your questions."

"I'd like to think I do, with some things at least," Tom said. "For example, I know that you're confused, and lashing out because you don't like the vulnerability of your uncertainty, torn between trying to back out of this and gain some distance and control again and digging deeper because you're curious to see how far you can push me, and, because digging deeper is the only way you find out more."

Harry gritted his teeth, noting that Tom's fingers were flexing against his skin, the barest signal that the other did have his own thoughts below his relatively composed surface.

"Which, my dear, is why I will not stand to indulge or encourage you on this…_business_ relationship. You've always thrived on the lack of…expected social boundaries we have, even if it frightens you at times-"

"-It does not frighten me!" Harry snapped, momentarily forgetting his resolution to be calm. Tom smirked, that shark-smile that was becoming more frequent again.

"Yes, it does, if it didn't you wouldn't have such a fabulous reaction every time I got close to you. _Relax_, it's mutual, except on my side I just normally find personal contact distasteful."

Harry's eyes shot up at that admittance, for the first time, clashing with the stare which still hadn't released him.

"Why are you telling me this?" he demanded, before Tom could continue.

"Do you want me to stop?"

And that was when Harry caught up, the deeper implications of the question smacking him like he'd just crashed into a brick wall.

If he said yes, Tom's walls would shoot back up, and he would indeed concede to give Harry the 'business' relationship he didn't really want, losing both the good parts as well as the bad, for a while at least.

He would still go along with his plan, but cut off any lenience or favour or possible sharing of thoughts or information.

If Harry said no…then he was conceding to not having the 'business' relationship and Tom was likely to shift things up a gear in terms of games and power plays, becoming even more ruthless if he had the opportunity, but also being more open about the plan.

And…no…it was more than that.

Salazar...

Tom was giving him a chance to back out _completely_…and he suspected this would be the only chance of such a thing he would get.

Before, that had never really been an issue, because it was nothing that Harry couldn't get himself out of if he _really _wanted to…now…everything was going to be permanent if they continued.

Tom wouldn't offer again if he kept playing.

This was a one time offer, and once chance to turn back...and quite possibly another test too...

He swallowed.

The grip released him, and his arm suddenly felt empty, merely tingling with phantom pressure.

"You can give me your response by the end of the week," Tom said softly.

* * *

A/N: So, a rather simplistic, and dare I say it old style of mine chapter that is simply pure Tom and Harry interaction. Sorry if you don't like it, as it appears to be a very much back to basis update, without any other POVs or views or multiple scenes. I'm actually quite nervous, and not sure if I like it or not… I was going to do more, but this just seemed…right, to me in away, to end it there for now, but then odd and crappy in another way.

I'll update again in a while, I suppose. At least you get a "character" chapter again after numerous "plot" chapters, I guess. Eek. Yes, I am trying to be placating...

Thanks for all the reviews. Happy New Year everyone!

Enjoy my first piece of writing of 2012.…do you reckon I'll finish FF before the world ends in December? ;)

PS: Sorry if Harry's reaction was disappointing. I will be exploring more of it in following chapters, as I suppose the elephant of Tom's plan is going to be a sustained issue between them until all is said and done. 


	118. Chapter 117

Chapter 117:

Tom couldn't help but notice the glamour-disguised exhaustion on Harry's face the next morning.

He couldn't help but feel gratified and…something else at the realisation that he, and his ultimatum, were at the cause of the younger's lack of rest.

He wasn't sure what he'd do if Harry decided he did want to back off…some part of him felt he would respect the other's choice, and then the remaining part of him just whispered that he should drag Harry along with him anyway if he refused to play willingly.

His insides twisted, inexplicably.

He didn't _want _to force the other into this, despite what some people seemed to think about his intentions towards Harry, but, would he? If it came down to it? Quite possibly.

He twirled his wand through his fingers, idly.

If Harry did choose to continue this game, of his own volition, surely it would prove that the other actually was his friend? Not just pretending for gain, or out of kindness, or, even worse, pity, like Granger suggested. Harry knew he wouldn't get this chance to leave again - the restrictions he placed on the other without hesitation was evidence enough of that.

He'd loosed the so Harry could wander around Hogwarts freely while he was making his decision, but the boy wouldn't be able to go further.

Would Harry run now at first opportunity?

His fingers curled tighter around his yew and phoenix feather.

He supposed all he could do was wait.

* * *

"He's actually giving you the option of walking away?" Zevi gaped, staring at the stressed - _lost - _boy in front of him.

Harry nodded, meeting his gaze with uncertainty.

Damn. Tom really did care about the younger; he'd never done anything like this before…had he? Harry probably didn't even realise the full significance of Tom's overall behaviour, to him, their interactions were relatively normal…but Tom, Tom was different with Harry, and that was just from his outsider perspective, without being privy to the more personal moments and conversations.

He studied the half Gryffindor, half Slytherin before him with open curiosity, knowing the other was waiting for his thoughts on the situation.

Harry had approached him almost sheepishly for advice, clearly not used to or comfortable with seeking guidance, but needing it desperately.

Harry…what did he say to Harry? Did he tell him to stay, as his Lord would not doubt want, or answer more frankly and as the confidant Harry was implicitly asking him to be?

His loyalty would always be to Tom, and he feared Harry walking away and the consequences if he did, but..did the duties of friend and follower have to clash?

It was evident that whatever caused Tom to offer this rare ultimatum was the same attachment that tore Harry apart to respond to it.

From a logical perspective, Harry should duck out now, flee and never look back…but this wasn't about logicalities, was it? As much as both Harry and Tom liked to rationalise their dynamic, and even had reasons and justifications for their actions, a large part of their relationship was undeniably an emotional one.

"Do you want to leave?" he asked, finally, knowing that he couldn't make this decision and that he wasn't supposed to either.

"Yes…no…I don't know," Harry mumbled, frustrated. "I _should _leave. It's what's best for me and everyone else."

"But not what you want to do," he noted, shrewdly.

"If I wanted to leave, I would have gone a long time ago," Harry sighed, impatiently, irritably, his fists clenched. "But this isn't just about me!"

And that was it, wasn't it…

"I think," he said, slowly, cautiously. "That though you should consider the ramifications and consequences to your friends and everyone else very carefully, ultimately, you can't make this decision for them this time. You're the one who's going to have to live with it."

"But what happens to them effects on whether or not I can live with or not!" Harry returned, miserably. Zevi allowed himself to roll his eyes.

"That's because you're too big on heroics," he pointed out. Harry snorted. There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Do you think Tom would be happier, in the long term, if I left?"

Merlin. What a question.

It was apparent Harry still viewed his and Tom's dynamic as somewhat one sided, and, he supposed, from Harry's perspective, Tom's feelings would be mind-boggling because he had no comparison.

_He_ did, but Harry didn't because he only saw Tom when Tom was around him, he couldn't see how extraordinary it was even if he was told.

When Harry was around, all of his Lord's other toys or relationships pale to insignificance, much like Harry's did on his side of the spectrum. It wasn't that they stopped having other priorities, and cared about nothing else - his own personal theory, anyway, was that Tom and Harry's dynamic was so intense, so complex and consuming, that they simply didn't have time or space in their lives and minds for any other considerations when they were dealing with each other. Except, of course, if other considerations could have some effect on their current issue of the week.

He shook his head, determined to clear that thought and direct his mind back to the matter at hand, seeing Harry was getting anxious about his lack of reply.

"That," he stated, softly, "is something you need to take up with Tom himself."

* * *

Hermione looked around the library, before marching over to where Riddle was sitting. He flipped his notes out of view when she stopped at his table, glaring.

"Careful," he drawled. "Your face might get stuck in that expression…though I admit it might be an improvement."

She put her hands on her hips, furiously, ignoring the insult.

"What's this about an ultimatum you've given Harry?" she demanded, unable to bring herself to be flustered by the sharp snap of his sudden, undivided attention. "If you don't want him, you should just tell him, not torture him further for your own sick amusement!"

Riddle's eyes flickered, darkly, but he remained unreadable.

"It's not my intention to torture him," Tom returned, quietly. "I take it he sought your advice on the matter…how unusual. What did you say?"

"That he would, in the long run, be better off without you," she snapped, acidly. After a moment, her voice softened, despite the annoyance she held for both his callous, sexist ways and the pain he was causing her best friend. "You're going to end up leaving him. You have to, you must know that…unless you think he can sort out this time paradox?"

His eyes flashed, cooling.

"And yet," Riddle murmured. "He's the one leaving me, otherwise it would be a simple decision for him to stay."

Hermione's heart stopped. Suddenly exhausted, she dropped into the seat next to him, ignoring his contempt.

"He does care about you, I was wrong to imply he doesn't," she admitted. "If he didn't care, it would be a simple decision for him to take your ultimatum and leave. Even you can see it isn't easy for him, by any stretch of the imagination."

Her lips thinned that he would make Harry make such a horrendous choice, when her friend already had so much to deal with.

He watched her without expression, but without the dismissive air he normally had when having a conversation with her too.

"I get the feeling you don't like me very much," he stated, not sounding overly bothered by the fact. She looked away, incapable of holding that piercing stare.

"It's Harry's opinion of you that matters, not mine," she replied.

"I dare say it matters," his tone had frozen to lethal shards, and she got the sinking feeling that she'd walked straight into a trap, "when you're trying to poison him against me because of that opinion."

"He asked for my thoughts on the matter," she replied coolly, lifting her chin. "I gave them. Much like any of your pet snakes would advocate their view on the topic, and probably have…unless you hold their tongue in this subject also? Because Harry wouldn't thank you if that was the case."

He met the accusation of foul play unflinchingly, merely arching a brow.

"Is there a particular reason you're disturbing my work?" he questioned after a minute. "Has ginger found out that you're locked at the knees and got bored?"

Hermione flushed, burning with rage.

"My relationships are none of your concern!" she snarled, her cheeks hot with discomfort and embarrassment. "And I'm here to make sure you don't screw my best friend over further with your psychotic mind games."

"So I can screw him in other ways?" Riddle questioned, smirking. The smirk vanished before she could reply, as he continued. "Please, don't flatter yourself, if I wanted to torture him or break him into a million pieces there would be nothing you could do about it, so stop whining - it's unattractive, and repeating this conversation is getting tiresome."

She glowered at him, eyes narrowed.

"I don't care how much of a God-complex you have, if you hurt him I will find a way to _destroy _you," she threatened lowly.

He blinked lazily in response.

"…how do you know he wouldn't enjoy my hurting him? Debatably, he's got a masochistic-"

"-_Will you stop your vulgar jokes and insinuations for one second!" _she near hissed, as if she were the snake. "Just because you don't seem to take his emotional welfare seriously-"

Her mouth slammed shut, her voice silenced as he rose abruptly from his seat, towering over her.

"Do not presume that I don't take Harry's welfare, emotional or otherwise, seriously." Riddle's voice was low, deadly, murderous. "You, of all people, should know the opposite is true. So, do us both a favour and use that brain which you seem to be so proud of and think before you fling your words at me like a spoilt two year old. It's a waste of my time, and it makes you sound ridiculous."

He wasn't glaring, but there was death in his gaze.

Her hands closed automatically, instinctually, around her wand, but before she could even make a move towards drawing it her wrist froze in place.

The terrifying thing was that he gave no visible indication of his magic use - no words and no wand, not even a hand gesture to replace his wand. She suddenly cursed that this corner of the library was so dark and, relatively, private.

"You punched me last time," he continued menacingly. "Do not take the liberty of thinking it is forgotten or that you remain unscathed out of any reason but my generosity."

He studied her, flatly, and she felt like a mouse trapped beneath his scrutiny. How did Harry stand it?

"I could have snakes devour you alive the second you stepped into the shadows alone," he whispered, leaning forwards, hid voice velvety. "I could turn your blood to acid so that you burn alive, or even arrange for Mr and Mrs Granger to be brutally assaulted on their way home from work, _girl_."

Hermione could scarcely breathe for the nausea, horror and fear that swallowed her.

"But," he purred, and in no way any less dangerously, "I shall not. You are here because of your loyalty and friendship to Harry, and I must admire you for that."

She felt her wrist unlock, but wasn't stupid, or composed, enough to attack him. She'd been in dangerous situations before, but never, she felt, so close to death without any talent or knowledge to aid her with it.

Her hands trembled imperceptibly, for she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing it.

"Rest assured, Hermione," he continued, sitting back elegantly into his seat, as if his threats were nothing. "I won't break him or kill him. Despite my, what was it…ah…psychotic mind games, my self control is impeccable, more so, I am perfectly aware of what Harry can or cannot tae from me, and when to stop. Is that all? Lovely." He smiled, coldly. "Bye bye now."

Resisting the urge to flee immediately, she scrapped together the last dregs of her Gryffindor courage and met him face on.

"I'll hold you to that," she promised.

But he had turned back to his work, disinterested.

* * *

Harry couldn't believe he was doing this.

Two days had passed since Tom had given him the ultimatum, and as soon as he thought he'd made up his mind, his mind promptly threw back into confusion and indecision.

He didn't know what to do, and nothing anyone had said was truly helping. He'd been able to figure most of what they suggested out for himself.

Tentatively, he lowered his Occlumency barriers, searching out for the mind at the furthest crevices of his awareness.

He bit his tongue as he felt the mental equivalent of a bullet slam into him, the second he got close, while his scar simultaneously exploded with pain. He could taste copper in his mouth.

Then, to his shock, his relief, the attack ceased, and there was but a shadow at the corner of his thoughts, alien and yet familiar.

He felt a stray, or maybe not so stray, thought drift to him, almost warily.

[What is it?]

It was actually working! He hadn't expected to work, it had been a stupid notice…and it was working, he hadn't thought it would actually work. What did he do?

[Voldemort?] he tried.

[No] came the immediate response. [The other person you have a mental link with.]

Harry's eyes widened, marginally pained, and he almost choked on air or thoughts at the very Tom-like reply. His insides squirmed at any resemblance.

Oh he really couldn't believe he was doing this…

[I need your advice.]

Silence. Utter silence, and just as Harry was about to give up and shut his barriers again, a thought came.

[This is about Tom.]

[Yes.]

[You do realise I could strip your mind apart seeing as you've foolishly lowered your shields.] He got a sense of scathing, and a horrible image of himself lying on the floor, drooling, in a vegetable like state. He shuddered.

[Yes.]

There was another silence.

[What about him? Make it quick, I'm not your therapist.]

Harry shot back a memory of the ultimatum, sick with nerves and incredulity at his own actions.

This was desperate and reckless, even for him…but, Voldemort knew Tom better than anyone else, he wasn't an idiot enough to deny that, however dissimilar the two were.

Voldemort knew Tom Riddle, or remembered him. Voldemort also knew Harrison Evans and Harry Potter, to some extent, certainly, even if he seemed to choose to ignore that fact for whatever reason.

Still.

He was insane for doing this. Tom had finally driven him over the edge.

He almost missed the subconscious, faint, foreign emotions that slipped past his own.

Shock.

Confusion.

Rage.

Disgust.

Fear.

Longing.

All merging into one complicated mess.

Tom's book on empathy was helping…that was where he'd got the idea of using the link to actually talk to Voldemort, without risking meeting the Dark Lord, and how he could better distinguish the emotions he was getting without feeling overwhelmed.

[Stop pretending!]

And then the link abruptly slammed shut with enough force to send him reeling.

Harry's eyes open in the empty classroom, the room spinning dizzyingly. He felt like he was going to empty the contents of his stomach and his forehead was wet with blood.

He bit his lip, absently cleaning himself up.

Shit.

What had he just done?

He couldn't believe he'd just asked Voldemort for advice. What was wrong with him? And what was wrong with Voldemort?

Not that the other had offered anything really…

And yet, for the first time, he thought he knew which decision he might give Tom tomorrow.

* * *

A/N: So, holidays end for tomorrow and it's hint the ground running with reality. And I don't have a laptop. So I thought I'd post this now...I hope you like it, and I'm aware it's very monologue-y, but I wanted to do the decision justice. What do you think Harry will pick? Who knows, I might add further conversations at some point, but I didn't want to be overwhelming and just variations of the same conversation over and over again cause you'd get bored...and I already do that circular dialogue pattern with Tom and Harry to a certain extent.

Please vote on my latest poll, if you haven't already.

And, um, yeah. That's me done for now. Next chapter should be interesting ;)

Wish me luck for my exams!


	119. Chapter 118

Chapter 118:

It was decision day, and Harry had one left to talk to…the one person he wanted to forestall conversing with and avoid at all costs. Tom himself.

His mental conversation with Voldemort, as brief and bizarre as it had been, had gone a long way in aiding his choice - but the Dark Lord, it seemed, now had a tone of questions if the sudden, inexplicable, crippling, rage, fear and uncertainty he was receiving down the link was anything to go by - and also only consolidated that it was the younger he needed to talk with, not a pale imitation.

He could feel the searching gazes of anyone who knew about the ultimatum, but ignored it in favour of spreading margarine meticulously to all four corners of his toast. He wasn't particularly hungry, but it gave him something to do.

He avoided any Ravenclaws (the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw Quidditch match was tomorrow and hostilities had naturally risen, though nowhere near to the violently competitive levels that preceded a Gryffindor/Slytherin game) and merely studied his plate in a thoughtful, conflicted, silence.

Whichever way he ultimately went, this hadn't been an easy choice.

If it wasn't too melodramatic a claim, it had actually been one of the hardest decisions he'd ever had to make. Leaning towards one conclusion or not, he'd hardly got any sleep, and was suffering for it.

His lessons passed in something of a blur, and an impatience combined with a simultaneous, paradoxical desire for time to stop completely.

When he walked out of Transfiguration, he found Tom waiting.

All those in the know how around them froze, and then some other just froze in reaction to that. Tom didn't say anything, merely tilting his head in an indication that Harry should come with him.

Feeling oddly exposed, he did.

They'd barely exchanged a sentence since _that _conversation, and Harry had to admit the sudden chasm of distance between them bothered him.

He wouldn't pretend it wouldn't.

This silence was, apparently, probably, Tom's interpretation of business. They ended up in the Room of Requirement, because it was still too cold and wet to sit on the banks of the lake.

There was, on Harry's behalf at least, and uncomfortable silence. He had the wildest thought that he'd grown of practise in the art of being around Tom - which was ridiculous!

The other sat onto a chair …chair, not sprawled on the sofa, so he wasn't relaxed. Harry hesitated between taking a chair or going to sit by the fireplace, but wasn't relaxed enough for the latter either, and Tom's posture wasn't helping. Suddenly even more tense, he ending up just standing halfway between both.

"I take it you want to hear my response," he stated, struggling to sound casual.

"Before midnight," Tom said, appraising him intently. "I actually got the impression you wanted to talk to me." Harry's lip curled despite everything.

"What gave it away?" he asked, dryly. "

Well, you've pretty much talked to everyone else." Tom's eyebrows arched. "I used my powers of deduction."

Harry flushed.

"Did they tell you what I said?"

"Not specifically. In rare, unwelcome displays of defiance they advised me to talk to you about it if I wanted to know."

"Figures," he replied, inwardly touched that they'd denied their Lord's curiosity on his behalf. "They told me the same at the end of every conversation too…more or less. To talk to you, I mean."

"The first and last time you'll do as your told," Tom deadpanned. Harry scowled.

"Shut up."

"No, really, it's a waste. I had so many of my own orders you could have conceded to if you were feeling so unusually compliant."

Harry was silent, not sure if he felt up to his normal bantering skills, and loathe to try and make his tumultuous mental state more visible. Tom looked away, seemingly content for him to take the lead on this discussion.

Typical: the only time didn't he assert ruthless dominance and control was when Harry didn't want it either.

"Which option do you want me to pick?" he asked, finally. Tom's eyes snapped back to him, though he didn't otherwise move.

"It's your ultimatum, not mine. My opinion isn't relevant."

"It's relevant to me," Harry returned quietly. Tom made a noise in the back of his throat.

"And if you can't figure out the answer yourself, we clearly don't understand each other as well as I thought we did."

Harry frowned, lightly, dropping warily to take a seat opposite the Slytherin Heir, surveying him intently.

"Maybe you over-estimate my intelligence," he offered, waiting for the disappointment to blossom on the other's features. There was nothing, disappointment or otherwise. Harry bit his lip, his gut wrenching. "I don't know," he admitted, frustrated. Tom always seemed to manage to frustrate him.

"Yes, you do," the Slytherin Heir replied immediately. "You just don't explore those thoughts. _**Think. **_I don't misjudge characters."

"Well, rumour has it you don't give ultimatums either," he snapped.

"And build on it."

"_Excuse me?"_

"There's your evidence - I don't normally give ultimatums. Build on it," Tom elaborated.

Harry sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Why won't you just tell me?"

"Because I've come to the conclusion that simply telling you things isn't as effective as letting you work it out and come to your own decision. You can't deny your own answers like you dismiss everyone else's."

Infuriating man…but his mind was bubbling with the challenge now.

"Aloud, if you will," Tom added. "It saves us the part where I have to try and translate your messed-up psyche."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the comment, but let it slide, thinking.

"Um, right," he began, awkwardly. "You don't normally give ultimatums…but you're giving one to me. Er…which makes me, um, different?"

He nearly cringed at how presumptuously arrogant and childish that sounded…way to point out the obvious. It was time's like these that he hated Tom's genius - he felt so thick in comparison!

Tom inclined his head in acknowledgement, but didn't speak.

"And I'm different because, er, you…that means I'm basically, um, well, I'm not one of our followers like 'brax or Zevi or…Lestrange."

He flexed his left arm almost without thought, wondering again if that was wholly true. Tom's head tilted, and there was no way he missed the reflexive action, but he thankfully didn't comment on it. "You said we were friends…could be equals."

"I did," Tom agreed, still studying him.

"You're giving me the ultimatum because you've changed your mind?"

Tom's fists curled. Wrong answer, or so it seemed.

"Either your lack of self worth has decreased for some unexplainable reason, or you're scared of having gained some self-worth and having it crushed again, leading you to cringe from assessments you'd normally make with confidence," Tom noted, with that sharp analysis. "Try again."

Harry tipped his head back on his chair, tugging fingers through his hair, agitated. He looked back, to see what was almost a faint flicker of pain in the other's gaze.

He swallowed, mentally flinching and steeling himself.

"You're giving me the ultimatum because we're friends," he said.

He held his breath, waiting for the next 'try again,' and yet, at the same time…Tom said nothing, and Harry's throat felt parched.

"You want me to stay," he murmured, and he supposed he'd thought that might be true on one level, but hadn't wanted to base anything on the presumption. His brow furrowed. "Then why did you give me the ultimatum?"

"You tell me," Tom challenged.

"Are you going to do this with every question I ask you?" Harry questioned. There was no response. "Right…well, because you wanted me to choose." He sat up straighter. "You were testing me. You _bastard-"_

"-Am I bastard for checking if you actually want to spend time with me?"

Harry stopped dead.

For the first time, it hit him that Tom might actually second guess things too, despite his confident demeanour. His eyes closed for a moment.

"Because, sometimes, Harry," Tom continued, "it seems like I'm doing all the pulling in this…friendship, while you're just kicking and screaming."

Harry felt shaky, his bones like jelly.

"I don't," he injected some more steel into his tone. "Um, that's to say, I don't have a problem spending time with you…it's more that I don't like the feeling that I'm forcing my company onto people."

"When have I ever given you the impression I don't like having you around?" Tom looked incredulous, and Harry winced. Then Tom paused. "Wait…that's why you do it, run off so much while not backing down either, obviously we both thrive off the power plays and whatever, that goes without saying, but…it's confirmation for you if I push back."

Tom looked utterly fascinated, and Harry wanted to curl into a hole somewhere and never come out.

"Don't you dare comment on that," he muttered darkly. Tom smirked.

"That's practically an invitation, sweetheart."

There was a silence, awkward, but not so tense as before.

"And yet…you asked me for a business relationship, which has the opposite effect of giving you this confirmation…I've already established that you push your boundaries when you're uncertain, and that you dig deeper…and this is the opposite, withdrawal."

He could hear the silent 'why' on the air between them.

"You know full well that you're dangerous, without my commenting on the matter," was all Harry said. "And you tell me," he added, before Tom could question that statement further, causing the other to smirk.

Tom straightened, before abruptly standing and walking towards him.

Harry stilled, but didn't move, when the other's hand caught his jaw, fingers skimming probingly across the pulse on his neck, the grip tight enough to be uncomfortable and restrictive, but not enough to choke or hurt, balancing on the edge before pain. After a moment, the other let go.

"Think aloud…" Harry instructed, perhaps enjoying using Tom's own words back on him more than he probably should have.

Tom arched an eyebrow, but after a moment, complied.

"You tense around me, again, established, but you don't run in that way and you never have, despite the fact that I've hurt you before and would do it again," he said, locking their gazes. "You're not scared of me on your own behalf. Your choice is to stay."

There was a hint of hesitation there, and oddly, to see Tom figuring out his thought processes made it clearer to him too. He inclined his head, just slightly, and Tom continued.

"_But_, you have a terrible habit of playing the hero so you're torn between doing what you want, and what other people want and expect from you…so, you fear the consequences of staying on behalf of your friends and family. You fear that I'm danger to them, you fear that if you don't make me believe I shouldn't, I'll drag you to the past and obliterate them from existence." Tom paused, considering him. "You'd distance yourself if you thought it would save them, even if you wouldn't personally want to."

"As you've pointed out," Harry said, softly. "You play to win and I'm not quite naïve enough to think that the people I care about aren't just pawns and pieces for you to use as you wish, nor that they're not in some regards a liability as much as they are a strength."

Tom made a disagreeing, chiding sound, no doubt at the strength part.

"Note," Harry said sharply, just as Tom's eyes began to gleam, "that doesn't translate to any level of acceptance to your plan. I think the whole thing is awful and wouldn't touch it with a barge pole aside from to whack into unfixable smithereens."

There was another silence, shorter this time.

"You're going to make me ask, aren't you?" Harry questioned, not sure whether to be amused or not.

"Ask what?" Tom smirked.

Harry rolled his eyes, watching as Tom dropped onto the sofa across from him. They were in the Slytherin Common replica.

"Are you willing to negotiate on your ultimatum?"

* * *

He appraised Harry, feeling more relieved than he felt comfortable with.

Was he willing to negotiate? Yes. Yes he was, for Harry he was.

He didn't need to question what type of concession the other would demand of him; he wanted safety and protection for his family and friends, not that they didn't already have an element of it as Granger had discovered…but Harry didn't need to know that…the interesting part was what he could make Harry concede in return, because they both knew the actual agreement of Harry staying wouldn't work as a concession, because it wasn't.

They were negotiating to allow that to happen in the first place, and Harry had as good as admitted that he wanted to stay as much as Tom didn't want him to leave, so…what to demand?

It would have to be something Harry had a chance of accepting, which, unfortunately, meant no to getting Harry to go along with his plan and drop his own self-destructive one. And no to the Munin band.

"Yes," he said. "I'm open to negotiation. What are your concessions?"

"You will not harm, order harm or threaten to harm anyone that I care about…you will protect if need be and not use them against me," Harry stipulated, carefully. "Nor will they be harmed as a consequence of your actions."

He hid a smile at the last bit, knowing it was directed at his plan.

Except, to harm them meant to cause them physical, mental, or moral impairment or deterioration…and technically, none of that occurred if they simply didn't exist. There was nothing _to _harm.

Still, he narrowed his eyes, making a show of finding that more difficult than it actually was to agree to…if Harry didn't ask for more, he certainly wouldn't recommend greater concessions.

Of course, there was still a concession involved, he lost a huge amount of bargaining chips if he couldn't use the people Harry cared about to manipulate him.

The use of the word 'care' was also cleverly chosen on Harry's behalf, as though it included, naturally, his friends and family, but Harry wasn't limited to caring for them, and Harry had a capacity to 'care' for a lot of people. Hero complex.

It would be a huge liability if Harry ever did decide to fight against him in the future, as all his enemies or the light side would be automatically included.

Hmm. It was worth a shot…

"If you agree to my concessions, I will not intentionally harm, order harm or threaten harm to any of your friends or family, I will protect them if need be and not use them against you, nor will they intentionally be harmed as a consequence of my actions."

"People I care about, those words," Harry returned, raising an eyebrow.

Okay, it didn't work, he hadn't expected it to...but he needed to find some insurance then, though he couldn't help but distantly admire his handiwork on the boy. Harry might not have picked up on the importance of semantics and lexical choices a year or so back.

Concessions for Harry, if he were to agree to Harry's proposal…you will not work against me? No.

While he was sure Harry was resourceful enough to find a way around that, it would render their current games obsolete, and he couldn't specify you won't work against my plan, because the other would never accept.

Harry knew better than to try and use his Death Eaters against him, mainly because while he cared about them to some extent, it wasn't enough to give Harry any significant advantage, so that was a nonsensical concession to demand. Unless…

"If I agree to your concessions, you will agree that should you ever betray me, return to the light, or use these concessions to aid the victory of the light or my enemies against me, all negotiations between us become void, barring this stipulation that the negotiations become void and control of your magic, which you would lose from breaking the oath, will pass to me should I choose," he offered, watching intently.

It wasn't a concession in the same way Harry's was, but it was binding and it offered him a security he needed and wanted more than any other, more trivial, demand he could have made.

Harry's eyes widened with shock, clearly not having expected _that _to have been his response.

"I take it you're angling for a Wizard's Oath with the bit about magic and losing it, as opposed to the Unbreakable which would cause me to lose my life instead of my magic."

"Indeed. I'd rather not give you more opportunities to kill yourself," he returned. Harry spluttered.

"I'm not trying to kill myself-"

"-Then you'll have no objection to the Wizard's Oath and stipulations regarding magic thereof?"

"You have no trust in me whatsoever," Harry accused, adopting a wounded tone.

"Take it as a compliment," he replied dryly.  
It was, kind of, because it consolidated that Harry was one of the few people who challenged him enough to warrant such measures. "Do you agree or not?"

"Who decided what actions count as a betrayal or return to the light?" Harry questioned warily, very cautious now.

"I do, though you can at the time, if you think you can arrange an audience with me without getting killed, tortured or captured etc, feel free to argue your case and rescind my judgement."

Harry was quiet for a while, looking thoughtful.

He knew it wasn't an easy concession, initial appearances aside, because it meant that Harry could never aid Dumbledore and his friends against Voldemort in that manner without risking their well-being further.

And yet…if he took it, he also gained them a level of protection and aid from Tom himself, and by addition, Tom's own followers, which could potentially stretch to Voldemort's Death Eater's depending on how any meetings between them went.

"Okay," Harry said, softly. "Deal."

* * *

A/N: So, I said I wouldn't update for a bit, but I had this chapter written already, so I thought I might as well give it to you because I have the terrible suspicion I'm as hooked on this story as you guys claim to be. Lucky you.

Thank you so much for the feedback, those of you who give it, it is very much appreciated and I love receiving it. Review Alert has turned me into a total email junkie. I get the compulsion to check it every hour if I have the opportunity ;) But anyway.

I hope I did their conversation justice, and if it didn't, then the next chapter might make it up to you. Feel free to try and guess what I have planned, haha. And no, I haven't forgotten about the Dumbledore deal :P

Anyway, adios again for now.  
Reality beckons...

PS: Read and review Nara Merald's "Luck's Limits." It is AWESOME and I'm sure she'd love the feedback. :)


	120. Chapter 119

Chapter 119:

Harry wasn't stupid, he knew perfectly well the sheer enormity of what he'd sworn to…and he knew the problems and paradox of it regarding his vow to Dumbledore.

If he didn't manage to prevent Tom from becoming Voldemort, if Voldemort remained as he was, he would either lose his magic or die. If he aided the Headmaster as he'd promised, his magic would be drained from him without hesitation due to his negotiations with Tom, and if he refused to help the Headmaster than he would die.

He had to win.

If he didn't…well, if he didn't, he had plans for that too. Just in case.

He was a Horcrux; if Voldemort was to be destroyed he had to die anyway, and he was already collecting the other pieces of the Dark Lord's soul, all he had to do when the clock hit zero was present those shards to Dumbledore and then he was out of there.

It made no difference.

If he couldn't prevent Voldemort, than he was sure as hell going to destroy him before he took the world apart in hateful insanity.

Tom probably thought he had him completely tied, that he would simply avoid going against his contrasting oath or that he would settle and change his current vow with Dumbledore somehow…but.

Maybe it was manipulative, but it appeared as if Tom was rather fixated on keeping alive, so if Harry made sure the way to that was by his plan succeeding and Tom not being Voldemort, than surely the other would be forced to comply?

He knew the Slytherin Heir thought his schemes were slapdash and reckless, but he'd thought it out more than people gave him credit for.

Get the Horcruxes, including the ring, find a way to get Voldemort to feel remorse/complete the spell to send him back. Confront Voldemort, make him 'Tom' and send Voldemort-Tom back in time to re-live his life, mind altered to know no better.

A never ending time loop, to be finished when the clock hit zero and the time continued, the world staying as it was…with nobody blown out of existence, and Tom free to do as he pleased with life. Ergo, not be Voldemort.

It was a gamble, but was it any less a gamble than Tom's crazy plan was? He didn't think so. Of course, there was a good chance his mind would end up damaged when the Horcrux tore out of it, but he'd get some help to finish what he started, and he was sure Tom would come around to act like the self-serving bastard he was eventually.

It would work out.

It had to.

It was dinner, with all negotiations settled and classes over for the day.

Carrow and Snape had both stared, even more than the other teachers, even more than those who knew of the ultimatum, even more than _Dumbledore, _and he had to admit if unnerved him was an unreadable stare, but coloured by an intangible feeling of absolute horror which Harry wasn't sure what to make of.

Dumbledore had sharp eyes on their table, and Harry could see the lines of worry engraved on his face like a crinkled sheet of parchment. Tom had clearly noticed the light lord's grave countenance too, and radiated smugness, along with something far more ambiguous.

He could feel the rest of the Slytherin's sneaking both him and the young Dark Lord glances, peeks obviously intended to be more subtle than they actually were…or maybe they were subtle in themselves, and the sheer number and frequency of these glances were what made them so evident.

He mused on this for a moment, noticing Carrow and Snape were offering these, nearly nervous, glances too.

He figured out why when his scar exploded in pain.

* * *

Harry suddenly seemed to go rigid, face paling white as snow, as death.

Zevi opened his mouth to call attention to it, only to note Tom had already seen the change, leaning over with a discreet but rapid manner, gaze warning anyone who had caught the shift to be silent.

"Harry?" Tom questioned, demand in his tone, before slipping into a hiss of parseltongue, his grip relentless on the other's shoulders.

Harry blinked, expression barely veiling agony, before he struggled to rise, just as Dumbledore did the same with swift orders to teachers on either side of him.

"All students are to report to their common rooms immediately, the rest of your dinners shall be taken there." There was no mildness in the deceptively pleasant man's voice, and then the Headmaster was striding to their table, Snape at his heel, even as the other teachers and prefects began rounding up the school population to be hustled to dormitories.

Harry was still seated…well, seated was an optimistic term for it, he was more slumped as if the table was the only thing keeping him upright.

He felt sick to see it, because though Harry was many things, he wasn't in the habit of revealing or conceding to any measure of weakness.

Tom's hand snapped to the boy's jaw, which seemed to marginally shake Harry out of it, or at least capture his attention away from the distant place it had reached. More hissing.

"Harry…what is it? Why is he here?" Dumbledore questioned, firmly but not unkindly, though the very act of asking these demands instead of sending the half-Gryffindor, half-Slytherin promptly to the Hospital Wing seemed to be, in his opinion, a cruelty in itself.

He…? The Dark Lord. Tom's future self, or so the evidence suggested, even when he wasn't allowed to go searching for it.

Harry showed his pain, the extent of which was probably still heavily masked from public scrutiny, whenever there had been a Death Eater raid, like on that Halloween Night when he'd woken to blood and screams…therefore, the scar that had famously been given to him by the Dark Lord might act as a link.

"He…" Harry seemed to abruptly jump back to reality, hiding the last of any torture from his features, though his movements remained more careful than normal. "He won't come inside. I just need to go and talk to him. Excuse me."

Before Harry had even taken a step, having freed himself from Tom's grip, that same grip was back tightly on Harry's arm, preventing him from walking further. The boy looked back, eyes dark.

"Tom-" he began, with a hard, frustrated edge to his words.

"-What's going on, hero?"

Ah, hero. That nickname was a bad sign, as it tended to come out when his lord was displeased with Harry for some reason; reasons which normally had to do with careless, self-destructive actions on the younger's part that lead to near death experiences.

"That is what I'd like to know," Sev-Snape stated quietly, in a murmur, echoing his own thoughts, and probably everyone else's too.

The next second a cold voice seemed to whisper from right next to them, high and clear, chilling with its cruelty.

"I do not like waiting. If you are not out here within the next _minute_ I will find some muggle town to slaughter, and you can bide your time trying to clean their blood off your hands because you tried my patience."

Tom's, already intent study of the other, seemed to almost sear Zevi's skin with the heat and dangerous concentration of it, and it wasn't even directed at him.

Harry looked mutinous, but there was a desperate stance to his posture that scarcely held control, and he feared on some level what the boy would do.

As it was, he merely seized Tom's arm back in a ferocious grip, practically hauling him towards the door and not sparing anyone, including Granger and Weasley and his pet Gryffindors who had gathered with concern, a backwards glance.

* * *

Feeling shaky all over, not to mention bewildered as to why Voldemort had turned up on Hogwarts ground yet _again_…and shouldn't there be wards to keep him out?

He concentrating on dragging Tom towards the grounds, knowing he had to take the restriction with him in case Tom decide to tighten said restriction back to ten metres, and wondering as the Slytherin dug his heels on whether or not it would be easier to just stupefy him.

Voldemort's eyes were crimson shards of ice upon his form, when he appeared, wand clutched tightly in the hand not forcing Tom's co-operation.

Once again, he was distantly happy that when Tom wasn't able to cheat, they were quite evenly matched. They always had been, physically, as although Tom was taller than him and had a wiry strength to his seemingly slender fingers and muscles, Harry was a better fighter and was by no means particularly weak either.

There were no Death Eaters present.

"**What is it**?" he hissed, warily, releasing Tom in favour of keeping his attention solely on the Dark Lord. Voldemort's eyes scanned across Tom, narrow with some frozen emotion in the pupils, long since iced and ruthless from anything resembling sentimentality regardless of what the feeling originally was, before returning back to him.

"**If you ask for advice, the appropriate action would be to follow it when its given."**

Harry contained his shock before it reached his face, though Voldemort and perhaps Tom most likely picked up on it anyway because of the link.

"I did…" he said, falling into English, confusion bringing back default settings. "Stop pretending."

"Clearly you didn't," Voldemort spat, and Harry was absently aware of Tom's lack of awareness regarding that whole mental conversation. "Or you would have done so."

Harry's brow furrowed, and Tom looked between them, expression more deadly than ever.

"**Either of you two care to fill me in**?" he demanded, bitingly.

"Not particularly," Harry deadpanned.

"**Potter, if you'd have done as I asked, you'd have taken his ultimatum and **_**left." **_Voldemort hissed. Harry blinked.

"You said stop pretending…"

Voldemort smiled, a horrible imitation of a smile that held none of the warmth of mirth a smile should have held

."Stop pretending that the two of you had any chance of a future."

"Okay, _tell me what's going on!" _Tom ordered, venomous. Harry didn't look at him, jaw clenched.

"Is that all you came here to tell me?" he questioned coldly. Voldemort took a menacing step forward, and he didn't back away and then - then Tom had stepped between them, practically radiating danger.

"Perhaps you didn't hear me-"

"We heard you," Voldemort stated. "We're just not responding."

Harry snorted despite himself, bringing Voldemort's attention back to him.

The pain in his head became almost overwhelming, and Tom's fingers simultaneously clamped on his arm, dragging him closer, lips near his ear as he spoke.

"**Start explaining,"** he murmured, "or I will tear your mind apart."

"It's nothing," Harry muttered, finding that explanation a bit too embarrassing to share.

Yew and phoenix feather dug into his side, and the next second it was gone, to blazing pain that he could scarcely think through.

He was in Voldemort's hold now, and had to swallow down bile. Tom took a step forward, pausing when the older version of his wand jammed into Harry's jugular.

"You two can…hash your numerous issues over at a later date, for now, child, I would be obliged if you could give us some privacy."

Tom folded his arms, features like stone, unmoving.

"...Unless you find him equally entertaining without his sanity or limbs?"

The younger Dark Lord's expression promised retribution.

"I will rip your lungs out and watch you suffocate if you so much as-"

"-Yes, yes," Voldemort sneered, dismissively. "Now, go play in the sandbox like a good little boy."

Another yew wand was pointed in his direction.

"It's alright, Tom," Harry said quietly. "I'll come find you once we've finished talking…although keep the restriction loosened."

"Oddly enough," Tom's voice was scathing. "I never find these reassuring claims all that reassuring coming from you, especially when they're to do with your own health."

Harry scowled.

"Funny-"

"-I Lord Voldemort, formerly known as Tom Marvelo Riddle, swear upon my magic that I will not cause intentional harm to Harry James Potter Evans within the next twenty four hours," Voldemort snapped, apparently losing patience.

They both went still, just as Voldemort shoved him away lightly, wand withdrawing. Harry raised a brow at Tom.

"Satisfied?"

* * *

They stood in silence, Harry feeling more than a little awkward, and in pain frankly due to the connection. Still, he kept his posture straight, not showing any of this, and Voldemort's thoughts appeared completely undecipherable in turn. He refused to be the first to talk; it was Voldemort who had sought this discussion.

"You care about him," the other stated. Him…Tom, obviously.

He wasn't sure what to say in response to that though, the elder didn't mean it as a question. In the end, he just watched and waited to see where this frankly bizarre and surreal situation was going to go.

"So why are you trying to change the past?"

Voldemort had found out about that then, somehow. Harry had been pretty certain that the other hadn't known about their plans and intentions before that, at least not fully.

He could feel a dark, pulsating fury through the connection, but for the life of him couldn't think what was angering the other so much.

Surely this was a weakness the other would exploit?

"Because he could be so much more than you," he replied, coolly. "And I would not see him so cheap a shadow of himself."

Voldemort's face twisted, hideous.

"You are destroying him,"

"And yet you're the one who obliterated him for your own persona," Harry snarled. "You're nothing like him."

"I grew up, perhaps you should do the same. We're not fifteen years old anymore, _let it go._"

"Then I wish you'd never grown up, because now you're just pathetic.

"The pain in his scar sparked, causing his facades to slip for the smallest second, though he knew Voldemort caught it. Then Harry felt something like wonder, but darker, colder, drifted across to him, seemingly subconsciously.

"I know you've figured it out - the paradox -you'd be nonexistent-"

"I'd rather be nonexistent than let him become you," Harry snarled. Voldemort's fingers flexed around his wand.

"**He either becomes me or doesn't exist at all himself, you **_**stupid**_** boy." **

Harry froze, not understanding.

"What-"

"The future is destroyed if the past is changed," Voldemort said coldly. "You must know that."

He figured Voldemort would be interrupting him in return, a revenge. Typical.

"Yes, but-"

"-You are _part_ of _his_ past now."

And his heart stopped.

How had he not thought of that? With all the time he'd spent on consideration of the topic?

Tom had already met Harrison Evans, so if Voldemort didn't exist to create the circumstances which led to Harry Potter becoming that exact version of Harrison Evans, the Tom he knew would be destroyed too.

He swallowed. Nausea rolled in his stomach. Voldemort was studying his expression, clinically.

"Your attempts of persuading a change of character in him, that weakening of paradox that you seem so proud of, doesn't help anything. It's not _saving_ him, it's killing him, and the more time he spends with you the more contempt he holds for me…and the more likely it is that you will both go up in smoke."

It changed nothing.

It seemed made his plan even more important, because in his plan the past still all happened by the obliviated hands of the creature before him.

Would Voldemort be willing to go along with his plan where Tom was? Probably not. Tom had said he'd rather they both lose than Harry win alone.

In that, Voldemort was most likely the same. He wouldn't let Tom live at the sake of his own suffering and death, moreover it was evident that there was no fondness between the two variations of the same person. He wouldn't do it, even for Tom's sake.

"So your solution to that is for me is to walk away and…what…make him become you out of _spite_?" Harry demanded incredulously.

"If you cared about him, as you seem to or at least claim to, you would," Voldemort said. "Then you would stand aside and meet your Fate, not continue this foolish crusade."

Voldemort thought he just wanted to persuade Tom not to become him, he had no idea what Harry's true plan was.

"If that is your conclusion, then what is your theory as to your lack of memories?" he questioned. Voldemort's features shifted minutely, just for a moment, before it was composed again.

"He won't leave you if he remembers this time; he's too attached, too _pathetically_ obsessive."

"He has a Munich band, if I were to go along with this…plan of yours, I wouldn't be able to manipulate his memories like you seem to be suggesting."

"I don't need you to perform the magic, all I require of you is that you'd make it possible for me to deactivate his band without him attacking me…for obvious reasons, I cannot fight him whereas he clearly had no such obligation towards me….he has a level of trust to you."

"I can't betray him, nor will I go against this apparent level of trust."

"Even if it saves his life?"

Bastard. It seemed he was willing to exploit 'care' after all.

"Does Tom know about this…dilemma?" he asked.

If he did, Tom was a raging hypocrite to criticise him for self-destructive tendencies.

"Of course he does, if I can think of it, so can he."

Right. There was another silence, and he could see the congregation of Headmaster, Tom, Hermione, Ron and teachers by the doors of the castle, watching them, arguing amongst themselves.

"Well," Harry said, in a mockingly cheerful tone. "I'd say it's been a pleasure talking t you, but I doubt that will ever be true. Was there anything else? Because I have a schedule and I'm sure you have a Death Eater meeting or something equally lame to attend to."

"Should I take this to mean I don't have your cooperation?"

Harry considered. If he didn't pretend to go along with this, what would be the consequences? Nothing good if the murderous glint on the other's countenance was anything to go by.

"I will do everything in my power to assure no harm comes to Tom," he said finally.

Voldemort appraised him, that odd nuance to his masked emotions present once more, before nodding once.

Harry turned to leave, keeping a strong awareness on Voldemort's movements as he did.

"Harry." He paused at that, unnerved to hear his name said without large amounts of death-threat from the snake-faced man. His tone was by no means warm, it was as cold and cruel as ever, but not over spilling with contempt.

"If you want another piece of advice…ask the old man about the prophecy."

He spun around to see nothing but empty air.

Voldemort had gone.

* * *

"What is going on?" Dumbledore and Tom both demanded the second he reached them. Harry took a second to find their identical wording and tone amusing.

"It's nothing," he repeated.  
The next second, he found a yew wand pointed in his direction again, in an alarmingly Dark Lord-ish manner.

"You haven't practised Occlumency today yet, have you, sweetheart?"  
The statement was low, honeyed, and infinitely lethal. Harry felt a pang of irritation.

"**You know your plan?"** he asked, sweetly. **"How does it work when obliterating this reality obliterates you because changing my past etc means we never meet and so your past changes too?"**

Tom's head tilted back slightly. Everyone else looked confused and unsettled by the switch into snake tongue.

"Well, I could tell you, but the more clarity and detail I give you the more you fight against me, so explanations would be counterproductive…as I'm sure Voldemort knew when he informed you of the matter."

"That's because your plan is crap," he deadpanned. "It has nothing to do with his opinion. You should know that."

"Plans?" Dumbledore questioned tersely. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Did you really think I was planning around this situation alone? Everyone's planning. You're planning. Tom's planning. I'm planning. Voldemort's planning. It's simply a race to see who's plan wins…and it will be mine."

Harry turned away, annoyed with the whole topic, only to stop when yew came into contact with his chest.

"What's Voldemort's plan?" Tom asked, eyes intent.

"What do you think his plan is?" Harry returned. "He wants to ensure he exists."

"And he is approaching you with guilt trips regarding my destruction if you prevent that existence," Tom guessed, shrewdly. "Interesting tactic…is it working?"

"Of course not," Harry scoffed, sidestepping the wand. "I hate him more than I like you."

Presumably. Maybe. It was complicated. Tom arched his brows, with a sense of knowing his thoughts which caused Harry to squirm. He looked away.

"You've looked flustered, darling. I hope that's from me and _not_ Voldemort, because that I would find insulting, and he's far too old for you."

He could see the smirk on the other's lips, and shoved him. Dumbledore cut between them, disappearing down the corridor.

Tom's smirk broadened, before vanishing.

"Tell me everything."

* * *

A/N: So, Roger my beloved laptop has been fixed, so I actually had time to get you another update before Wednesday. I hope you enjoyed it, I found it horrendously difficult to write. Voldemort is so hard to characterise and write that its ridiculous, and in my head I just can't get him right and any scenes involving him come out as weak in quality etc. I hope that is not true outside of my self-criticism, but I'm not sure…

Thank you so much for all the people who are reviewing, I think I read every review like five times. =) Much appreciation, now, I have an exam on Wednesday to revise for. 

PS: Do you guys still like Tom's plan? ;)


	121. Chapter 120

Chapter 120:

It was late that night that Tom found himself leaving the grounds of Hogwarts, cloaked by shadows, those aware of his absence knowing well enough by now not to mention or think on it.

Harry had gone to meet Dumbledore, and he'd allowed it, content with the knowledge that he'd know if Harry was betraying him or doing anything untoward, and having business of his own to contend with.

He had let the restrictions stay loosened, knowing that he could tighten them anytime he wanted while he kept a small fragment of his attention upon the link.

Harry was still at Hogwarts, and that was enough, for now, though he was marginally annoyed but not surprised that the other had refused to tell him "everything" and had instead relapsed into a mutinous silence. It was payback for not sharing his own plans, he knew, but he'd deal with that later.

He appeared instead at Malfoy Manor, striding up to the gates without hesitation, and obliged to find them open for him. Peacocks strutted about the elaborate grounds, but he paid them no heed.

He didn't knock, not caring to act the humble student here, and walked straight in. As he shut the door behind him with a swish of his wand, Lucius Malfoy rounded the end of the hallway, his wards having clearly alerted him of the arrival of a guest.

The man, a spitting image of Abraxas, nodded coolly in greeting, mercury eyes surveying him with a wary respect and cautiousness. He doubted that Voldemort had introduced him in an honest manner, but the littlest Malfoy had a loose tongue by all accounts.

"He's in the drawing room," Lucius said quietly, a hint of fear in his careful posture. "My lord."

He resisted the urge to smirk with practised ease, gratified to hear that particular address once more. His followers knew his preferred names well enough, but they also knew that he forwent it for 'Tom' around Harry. He didn't think Golden Boy was quite ready to see his 'empire' presented so obviously.

Harry wasn't stupid, he knew the other suspected the dominion that played when he wasn't around, but he also knew that what many may have assumed to be signs of obliviousness etc was more a sign that Harry was rather pointedly ignoring certain details until he felt more equipped to deal with them, or was forced to.

He nodded back, making his way there, aware of the gaze on his back. His stomach knotted slightly despite himself at the thought of this meeting.

He hated coming into direct contact with his elder self, it was a bitter reminder of how much he was capable of failing, and failure was never an option.

"Tom," came the greeted, with a glass of white wine tipped altogether mockingly in his direction.

The Dark Lord sat upon an intricate throne like armchair before the fire, high backed, posture ramrod straight and scarlet eyes piercing like ice-picks. "I was wondering when you would seek me out without my provocation." He was favoured by a thin, coldly amused smile. "I'd offer you some wine, but I don't think you're quite old enough and we are not in France, but you may take a seat if it pleases you."

"Why thank you," he replied smoothly, no warmth in his tone either, as he transfigured another armchair into a throne to suit his purpose…a better one. Voldemort's eyes narrowed, but he continued as if he hadn't noticed. "And I'd go easier on the wine yourself, the years have evidently been unkind to you so I wouldn't encourage the deterioration of your appearance further."

"Your concern is touching, what is it that you are here for?"

"Thankfully not good conversation," he replied sweetly, before he grew serious, leaning forwards. "What is your game in interfering with Harry and myself? I believe I have already made it apparent that your involvement in our affairs is unwelcome, and that I will destroy you if you continue."

"And yet," Voldemort murmured, surveying him, "you are here rather than fulfilling that _passionate _declaration." He gave a tisk. "It is not as easy for you to destroy a part of yourself as you'd like to think, is it, child?"

He was silent in response to that, his scrutiny raking over the bloodless face, so different to his own, admittedly pale, features. Voldemort's eyes cast back over his features in equal fascination.

"Potter cares for you. He's a liability and a traitor, but he seems to genuinely care about you."

Tom's head tilted to one side.

"Jealous?"

"Bewildered and disgusted with the both of you," Voldemort returned icily.

"And jealous enough to admit you're bewildered," Tom taunted, with a smirk, before that too was gone. "One of the few emotions you seem to have enough humanity to still feel. It's odd how stripping our soul strips us down to our essential characteristics."

Hatred.

Anger.

Jealousy.

Bitterness.

Fear.

Envy.

Pride.

Obsession.

Everything dark about them, because without his persona and humanity that was all a Psychopath could be.

He tapped his fingers against his chair, locking their masked gazes that nonetheless revealed too much to each other. They knew each other best, after all, followed by Harry with an unparalleled insight, and perhaps more.

Harry shined light in a heart consumed by shadows, blinding light that caused monsters to both cringe in place of something more tender, and lash out in assertion of their territory.

Voldemort stared back, with a cruel twist of the lips, not saying anything for a moment.

"And you…" he murmured. "What are your feelings regarding the boy?

""Come now, old man, anyone walking in would think you were planning to give me the talk."

Voldemort's lips thinned with revulsion, filling him with a sadistic glee.

"Severus seems to believe I need to…Hogwarts accepts Howlers, so you tell me, must I?"

The glee promptly disappeared.

"One might wonder, and indeed they have, from the blatant obsession you show the boy."

"Well, in that case one might accuse you of paedophilia in turn," Tom sneered. "But that would be extremely disturbing considering he was but one years old when you first expressed your own interest in him."

There was a tense, furious silence.

"I'm not a paedophile."

"Severus Snape has no measure of our dynamic by which you could hope to judge it," he returned, equally venomous. The elder took a large sip from his glass.

"Touché," he acknowledged. "But you might want to answer the question if you wish to avoid such misconceptions."

"And you might wish to answer my queries in turn if we don't wish for our curiosities to circle incessantly forevermore without conclusion."

"One question for one question?"

"Consider it as a deal. Elders first. What is your plan regarding Harry and myself?"

Voldemort's fingers twirled around his wand, but for obvious reasons, neither relented to temptation of torture.

"I want the two of you to stop pretending that you have any hope for a future together and will act accordingly to prevent such a future from happening. Why are you so invested in Harry Potter?"

"Because he intrigues me and I enjoy his company and our games," Tom replied. "Why did you target him when he was a baby?"

"Because of a prophecy," Voldemort said, with a considering expression. Tom just about caught his shock.

"What did the prophecy say?"

"It's my question, I believe," the Dark Lord goaded, mirthlessly. "What is_ your_ plan regarding Harry and yourself?"

"I plan to keep him with me and ensure that future you seem so eager to prevent."

There was a flash of irritation on the other's features, an over-exaggerated apocalyptic rage that emphasised the mental instability of the wizard before him. He presumed it was because of his vagueness, but Voldemort had started that.

"What did the prophecy say?" he demanded, softly, leaning forwards.

* * *

Harry closed the door to Dumbledore's office behind him, offering Fawkes' a smile before surveying his headmaster without expression.

The grandfatherly man was buried in a stack of papers, half moon glasses resting on his crooked nose, and for just a second Harry felt a flash of that innocent fondness for the ancient wizard before everything else came flooding back. Dumbledore rested his quill, unsmiling.

"I wasn't aware we had a lesson planned for today, is there something you require?"

For a moment, Harry mourned the loss of the relationship they'd had, or the one he'd once thought them to have. It was clear the man was annoyed and suspicious of his earlier interactions with Voldemort, and his lack of openness regarding the subject of their discussion.

He'd been evaluating what approach to take all day, and with Tom, he may have been more wary of the 'bluffing' tactic as the other had the horrible habit of pinning him, sometimes quite literally, into waters he didn't want to go when he tried.

With Tom, taunting or slyness worked better.

"Why didn't you tell me about the prophecy?" he demanded, softly. "Didn't you think I had a right to know?"

Dumbledore's eyes widened with shock, before narrowing as the old man tried to assess how much he knew and how to reply.

Harry kept his features utterly neutral and expressionless, revealing nothing. This rarely worked with the Slytherin Heir, but Tom could actually read his emotions without needing to decipher however well veiled an expression he possessed.

"I wanted to give you a childhood," the Headmaster said. "I was going to tell you when the time was right. I presume Voldemort told you."

When the time was right…first year, his question. Why had Voldemort tried to kill him as a baby? It was because of this prophecy, whatever it was.

Harry considered continuing the bluff, but in the end switched tactics. This was too important.

"He told me to ask you about the prophecy…so who would you rather I heard it from? You or him?"

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, before summoning the pensieve to the table between them and depositing a memory into the liquid.

"He only knows half, so I'd strongly advise you not to discuss it with him, or Mr Riddle for that matter. They are not friend to you."

And a figure - Trelawney - rose from the silver sheen on memory.

* * *

Tom sat frozen, breathless, as Voldemort hissed:

"**The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month does…" **

* * *

"…_and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"_

Harry's blood chilled, with no emotion capable of surfacing past his utter shock and horror. No. No. No. This was all wrong. Dumbledore was lying he had to be.

* * *

"**You don't** know** the rest?"**

"**Dumbledore does…and Potter."**

They both winced at the tumult of emotions that suddenly swirled in their heads, painful emotions going too fast for him to decipher, but all thoughts locked tight behind Occlumency barriers he suddenly wished he hadn't taught so well.

"Go to him," Voldemort instructed. "And we shall speak at a later date."

_Tell me everything. _

* * *

A/N: Um, so, I hope that wasn't too abrupt. Heh…I was bored of revising, and needed stress relief…so have this chapter. EXAM TOMORROW! Freak out! Adios. 

Thank you so much for the reviews! I'm sorry I never respond to all of them, though I do try and respond if you have a question I can answer without destroying the plot for you. Nikki…thanks =) I'm honoured. I'll pester you if I ever manage to get my book published ;) Be warned. 

I know this chapter isn't way long, but...it's good quality...;)  
Well, it's longer than my shortest beginning chapters anyway, it was only quite recently that my chapters started getting anything that could be called long...

And this seemed like a good place to stop...and one thing I will not deny about my writing skills is that I'm good with ending chapters :P


	122. Chapter 121

Chapter 121:

"What does it mean?" he questioned, too numb and exhausted to play anymore. Dumbledore surveyed him with sad eyes. "It says…it says that neither can live while the other survives…sir…?"

"It meant," Dumbledore said quietly, "that the person who has the only chance of defeating Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy, you, would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times."

Harry couldn't breathe. This wasn't true. His head was swimming. Suddenly everything seemed to have closed in on him, claustrophobic.

Voldemort had only heard the first few lines, if he'd known more…would his parent's deaths have been avoided? How much would be different, and how much would be the same?

"The power the Dark Lord knows not…?" his voice sounded helpless and strangled to even his own ears, and he abruptly composed himself, his features sliding expressionless. "You better not freaking say love again."

"I do hope you, like Tom, do not underestimate the terrible and wonderful powers of that emotion," Dumbledore stated. "Miss Weasley certainly paid a heavy price for hers, and you've experienced yourself the protectiveness of a mother's love."

He choked back his automatic guilt at the thought of Ginny.  
Poor, poor Ginny.

It was the second reference that cut deeper. Had his parents known? Or had Dumbledore simply told them that they must go into hiding? Had his mum protected him as the prophecy child or as _her_ child?

Harry felt sick to the stomach.

Dumbledore thought him and Tom were lovers…

"You think if I hug him enough or something that he'll suddenly turn into a cuddly, nice hippy?" he scoffed, incredulous, despairing.

This was worse than he thought, and he didn't have the capacity to think all that much. Shock drowned his rationality, fire burned in his belly like some devil waiting to strike out at anyone who came close. He felt like his skin was jumping around, itchy. He felt oddly hollow too.

"I think you can resist him and do what you have to do, for love of your friends and family," Dumbledore replied softly. "I've seen him interact with many people during the seven years he was my student, and none of them have…kept their own sense of will like you have."

He ground his teeth.

"Probably should have mentioned this before I gave a Wizard's oath not to betray in exchange for the safety of my friends and family," he said, taking a vicious delight in watching the colour drain out of the Headmaster's face. "How could you have kept this from me?" he near whispered.

"My dear boy, I wanted to give you a child-"

"A childhood?" his voice was reaching louder, less controlled levels, and he seized a spindly instrument, chucking it across the room. "_I never had a childhood for you to take!"_ he hissed, barely staying in English. "You should have trained me. You should have bloody trained me, because now I have about fifty years of magical experience to catch up on. Thanks, really. I appreciate it."

His words dripped with sarcasm.

Dumbledore flinched, incredibly, moisture pooling just slightly in his eyes.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, but I did what I thought was best and I will not regret that. You say you are not a child, then I'm sure you will understand that war and the greater good requires some hard but necessary sacrifices-"

"Don't talk to me about sacrifices!" he snarled, his face twisting, before falling back into neutrality he tried so hard to achieve, as he clung desperately to his control. Maybe once upon a time he would have openly raged, but he knew now how costly a single lapse could be. "The odd thing, old man," he continued softly, dangerously, "is that my problem is not with your asking this sacrifice, on some level I've always felt it…you know what really bugs me? It's the fact you would not even give me the chance to offer it willingly."

Neither can live while the other survives…Voldemort would always hunt him, so he would always be limited to bare survival and not truly living. So Voldemort either killed him or he killed Voldemort first? He didn't know. He couldn't…he couldn't do this. Not now.

This was the final straw.

He slammed the door shut behind him.

* * *

Though he'd left Dumbledore's office over an hour ago, he was only now finding the dregs of courage he needed to consider making his way back to the Slytherin Common - even if only to collect his things to move into the Room of Requirement, or even Gryffindor Tower again.

His thoughts still wouldn't stop spinning, his emotions buffeting him to the extent that he envied any non-sentient being because they wouldn't have to deal with such feelings. Nausea rolled in his stomach, over and over again, a toxic washing machine.

_For neither can live while the other survives…_

He had to kill Tom, according to the Prophecy, or at least Voldemort. He didn't know.

Did the Dark Lord refer to Tom or Voldemort? He prayed for the latter.

He couldn't think straight. He just couldn't.

All he could gather were flustered, jagged snatches that made his mind flinch back away from them as if they were shards of glass.

Maybe if he could logically analyse this he could try and find a way around it, to work out the precise meaning…but his thoughts were too quick and emotional, too tumbling and messy, more impressions than anything of any value to him.

Perhaps under the stress of Fate Tom would be able to switch off any emotional response for cold rationality, but that had never been his way. His instincts sharpened impeccably under pressure, and he could think fast out of danger, but this was different.

This was a bloody Prophecy, and since when were there even prophecies? The biggest kick was that this stupid, pathetic, horrible, unwanted destiny was what his parents had died for.

It was all so meaningless.

He tugged fingers through his hair, wondering if he should go flying despite the near pitch black of evening outside…crashing into the whomping willow seemed preferable to continuingly crashing into his own mentality.

For what had to be the fiftieth time, he sucked in a deep, shaky breath, struggling to calm himself. This was ridiculous. He shouldn't be so panicked…because that was one of the most unsettling things here, wasn't he?

He'd almost expected the raging fury, the exhaustion, the desperation and the hopelessness….what he couldn't stand was the _fear._

Once upon a time, this wouldn't have scared him so much, he would have been - dare he say it? - more of a Gryffindor about the whole situation. But he was scared. He was terrified.

But not of Voldemort…the other had been trying to kill him anyway, this just confirmed it really.

No, what froze his blood was the 'Fate' of the whole thing, the pre-conceived element of a _prophecy._

Fate and Luck.

A war between Fate and Luck.

A slap from Fate.

If this was Fate, and there really was at least a notion of Fate, be it just an interpersonal force or the more anthropomorphised view that Luna seemed to take, then it suggested a certain inevitability.

It meant Tom would become Voldemort. That it wasn't even about whether he had to kill Voldemort or Tom, because they were the same thing…and they were going to kill each other.

Nothing. Everything for nothing. Pointless.

And Tom…how would Tom take this? If he knew…if he ever knew…would he try and kill Harry too? He swallowed. It was possible.

It was why he felt the overwhelming urge to stay out of Slytherin wasn't it? Except that wasn't quite it, however easier such an explanation would be.

He'd never really been the Boy who Lived with Tom, that had been the initial allure of the weird and somewhat forbidden comradeship he'd entered into…and he didn't want that to change.

Perhaps it was irrational, it probably was, he felt irrational, but he couldn't help it! The whole thing made little difference to his plans, ultimately, but…it changed everything else.

Maybe it was Fate, but if it was then he was going to go down fighting against the bitch.

He hated Fate, and it had already been established that Fate hated him with mutual fervour.

At least Luck was on his side.

He had the urge to burst into hysterical, crazed laughter at the thought. Maybe he was crazy…normal, sane people didn't lead lives like his.

Salazar.

"_I hate my life,_" he muttered.

"You know, statements like that don't really give weight to your claim that you're not suicidal," a voice said dryly.

Harry whipped around, wand in hand. Tom.

"How long have you been there?" he demanded, backing up a few steps automatically.

Tom leaned against the door of the Astronomy Tower (it was the closest Harry could get to the sky without flying) with his wand gripped in his hand, not raised, but down at his side. For now.

"Long enough to know you're falling to pieces," the Slytherin Heir replied, studying him. Harry's eyes narrowed, warily.

"I'm not falling to pieces," he lied, stiffly, not even able to convince himself of any truth in those words. Tom's brows arched.

"Point one, I can feel your emotions, which with your new mind art skills means you're projecting and thus, doing the mental equivalent of screaming. Point two, you look terrible, and point three, you didn't notice that I've been standing behind you for about three minutes while you stared gormlessly out the window," Tom said. "It doesn't take intelligence to slot the evidence together into the obvious conclusion and I have an IQ of 210."

Harry looked away, though kept the other in the corner of his periphery vision.

"I'd rather be alone right now," he stated pointedly, wishing fervently that Tom would accept that. The young Dark Lord stepped closer, and before he was even aware of what he was doing he had stepped back.

They both froze in their movements, and the piercing intentness in Tom's gaze seemed to sharpen to a laser-like quality.

"That must have been some prophecy, golden boy. Should I be concerned?"

Harry almost choked on air.

"_You know about the prophecy?"_ he questioned, his chest tight. He was feeling oddly claustrophobic again. "Since when?"

"Since about the same time Dumbledore told you," Tom replied, his head tilting. "Though I dare say it would be of some aid to my assessment if you'd share the other half."

"Voldemort told you," he stated, not needing to question. Voldemort knew half. Tom knew Voldemort. "You two have a nice tea party together?"

"The conversation was interesting enough," Tom said. "You're avoiding the question."

"And did you plan to ask that question when you, or Voldemort, figured my barriers will be down due to _falling to pieces_?"

"Don't be bitter, it doesn't suit you, and yes, _I _did," Tom replied, easily enough. "Is it working? Or should I switch tactics?"

Harry was silent, not sure why the thought of Tom and Voldemort meeting recreationally or whatever made him feel so…betrayed.

Damn it, he shouldn't be dealing with this right now. They both knew it, it was why Tom was pushing it now, before he could process.

Blitz attack.

"Why are you being so open?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Because any subtleties are clearly going over your head," Tom snapped, the first hint of his own emotions in his tone. "Salazar, Harry, relax a little and stop acting like a Hufflepuff - use the brain I know you possess. I was standing behind you without your notice, if I was going to take the same uninformed approach as Voldemort that would have been an opportune moment to act."

Harry blinked.

For the first time, his panic receded slightly. He felt stupid. Tom met his gaze with a challenge, and something about the familiarity of the situation had him grow less unnerved, enough to think through haze.

"Good," Tom murmured, encouragingly.

"How can you be so _calm?_" Harry demanded.

"I'm not," Tom smirked, dangerously. "You may be more emotional than me, but you're normally perfectly capable of thinking under pressure and not freaking out. I'm just currently bouncing my emotions at you through the link, because while you initially rage and then withdraw to process when things overwhelm you, I destroy everything around me and act carelessly to get rid of threats. You've done raging, now you are clearly withdrawing, and so my emotions are safer with you."

Harry opened his mouth, feeling a surge of annoyance.

"Considering evidence suggests the threat is you," Tom continued, "I wouldn't get too pissed off about that."

"And you want to have this conversation now?" Harry questioned incredulously.

"Well, after the withdrawal stage you clam up, so it was the only convenient slot," Tom drawled. Harry appraised the other cautiously.

"So…on a scale of one to ten how mentally stable are you? One being stable…"

"Seven," Tom said, his tone clipped. "So tell me and then I can start analysing the full extent of the scenario and not half…and before you ask, no, I'm not going to report straight back to Voldemort. I took an oath to keep your secrets after the Roger-potions-memory charm debacle, remember?"

He couldn't believe he'd forgotten about that.

"Um," his throat felt dry. He didn't think 'Dumbledore says I shouldn't tell you' would go over well.

"I will find out whether you tell me or not," Tom stated, absolute certainty in his tone. "So for once in your life, you might as well just speak. I have a right to know, and you know that."

Yes. But his self-preservation disagreed with his conscience. Damn.

He took a step to edge around the other, only for Tom to move in his way, his hold on yew and phoenix feather becoming firmer. Harry surveyed him.

"I will cheat if you try and duel me," the Slytherin Heir warned, softly, casting an glance at his left arm.

"Well, holding me here won't do you any good, as I won't tell you," he growled. "So you might as well let me leave without my having to duel you in attempt."

"Is it really _that_ bad that you can't tell me? Are we supposed to kill each other or something?"

Harry 's features felt stiff with the effort it took not to react to that, but Tom's expression immediately shuttered. _He knew. _

Not caring for the consequences this time, he sent a parseltongue exploding hex at the other, knowing Tom would be able to block it, but also knowing that doing so might give him the distraction he needed.

He was proved wrong when a force slammed into him, sending them both to the floor and the exploding hex veering in the direction of the door behind them…bringing a large chunk of the wall down.

Harry went pale, but maintained a tight hold on his wand,preventing it from being summoned. They were in silence for a second, coughing.

The stairs were completely blocked, and they stared at each other.

He was going to be in so much trouble!

Tom whistled.

"I think there may have been an overkill of power there, sunshine."

Harry shot him a scathing look, before remembering the conversation they were in the middle of. Which he now couldn't leave.

At least not without clearing a bunch of rubble from the door, and while there was a spell to aid the process, but considering the other had admitted his instability levels were a bit too much on the psychotic, unstable side he didn't want to remove his attention for that long.

"It's your fault," he snapped. "If you weren't so - pushy! - we wouldn't be stuck here."

"And what a shame that would be," Tom drawled. "I guess you'll have to suffer my conversation until Hogwarts fixes herself or someone comes and finds us."

"Or we could shift the rock and actually find beds to sleep in tonight," Harry returned.

"We could," Tom agreed, dark eyes cutting into his skin, "but then again, I have you where I want you so letting you do so would no doubt be utterly counterproductive."

"I already said I won't tell you."

"Because we're destined to kill each other?" all humour had vanished from the Slytherin Heir's voice now.

When he didn't respond, Tom lunged forwards, fingers like steel bands upon his shoulders, the grip constricting further as he moved backwards in anticipation of the move.

"_Answer me!"_

"Or what?" Harry dared, tensed. "You're such a hypocrite - you would never tell me anything if you thought you could get away with it. If our roles were reversed you'd never even mention that there _was _a prophecy," he accused.

Tom smiled coldly.

"Our roles aren't reversed, and you cannot get away with evasion this time, so don't think you can, making both your objections invalid."

They glared at each other, and on some level Harry was aware that he was just being stubborn now. Inexplicably, Tom's features softened fractionally.

"Control issues."

"What?"

"You seek control whenever you feel vulnerable, and this knowledge has left you vulnerable, that's established, its why I'm forcing this topic now instead of giving you the time you want to analyse it yourself," Tom explained.

Confusion and uncertainty joined the war inside him. When Tom was being domineering, forceful and Dark-Lordy it was always so much easier to fight him then when he started acting like this…a friend 'of a sort.' It made the prophecy that much more painful.

"You never give me what I want," Harry muttered.

"No," Tom said. "But neither have I ever denied you what you truly _need. _So I'd thank you to return the favour…tell me, _**please.**_ You know I have no desire to kill you…well, no serious desire that outweighs my desire to keep you alive…and I need the specific wording."

Harry blinked, that rare please catching on a hook in his chest.

"Specific?"

"The one with the power to _vanquish _the Dark Lord approaches…vanquish does not necessitate murder for example, it just means to defeat in battle or to prove convincingly superior to somebody in a contest, competition, or argument…so I'm curious as to where you're drawing your seeming 'killing' idea. Prophecies are often rather vague, and can be twisted by individuals to mean their own interpretation."

Harry stared, fascinated despite himself, but not allowing himself to hope.

Tom returned his gaze with equal intentness.

Harry bit his lip, torn. He could research semantics on his own…and regardless, Tom never told him anything, but…

* * *

Tom studied the boy in front of him with intrigue.

Harry was rigid beneath his fingers, and any lesser man might have been wincing from his hold, though the other seemed hardly aware of it in the face of the emotional turmoil he was facing.

Curiosity and fear warred for dominance in his mind, and he barely resisted the temptation to throw those emotions at Harry too, so then he would have to deal with it. He refrained; Harry seemed uncharacteristically fearful, so he wasn't going to add to that if he could help it.

Golden boy was clearly hesitating on the brink of decision, and that, in itself, was incredible. Things had changed a lot between them since they'd first met.

Harry looked uncertain, and he bet the blasted Headmaster was the cause of it. Harry was always more…impressionable when he felt lost, or vulnerable, though the boy would deny the truth of that statement to the end of the earth.

It wasn't that Harry was easily led, you wouldn't be able to force him into doing anything he didn't want to do just because he was exhausted from the weight of life, but if you phrased the words you were using carefully enough they were more likely to settle in his head.

Especially if he'd already had some element of the idea, or insecurity, in his mind. Harry was remarkable in that he was insecure, confident and defiant all at the same time.

One person really shouldn't have so many conflicting personality traits - especially not in that both traits were strong on either side, rather than being the grey mixture in most people.

With anyone else, he would have opted for legilimency by now. With anyone else. He just needed something to tip the balance now, coax Harry into telling him.

"You'd want to know if you were in my position," he wheedled, keeping his voice low and serene despite the violent impatience that brewed inside him.

Who said his self-control wasn't impeccable? Yes, he lost his temper, but you needed the control of a saint with Harry - he was far too good at knowing which buttons to press - and it probably did the boy good to be reminded of the dangers of keeping company around him.

Things would be boring if they got too…domestic…considering they both thrived on the power plays and adrenaline.

"And I'm only imagining worse the longer you stay silent."

"Do you promise you won't think differently of me?" Harry mumbled, appearing incredibly embarrassed about the question, despite the severity of the issue.

He didn't really understand why Harry would be embarrassed…was it the social expectations again or something?

"Why would I think differently of you? Because you have the ability to 'vanquish' the Dark Lord, be that referring to me or my counterpart?"

That revelation really wasn't as surprising to him as it seemed to be to Harry - he'd always been perfectly aware that Harry was different. There was silence.

"Alright," he said. "To the best of my ability, I won't allow this to change of my opinion of you too much."

Harry fingers curled tighter around his wand.

"Come on," he urged, softly. "Take a leap of faith, sweetheart."

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…"_

* * *

Harry finished relating the Prophecy, hyper-vigilant to every nuance of expression or reaction Tom gave. His shoulders burned as the grip on them loosened, before releasing him entirely.

Tom's gaze didn't leave his face for a second. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

"It would be great if you'd say something," he prompted, desperate to keep his tone even, and largely succeeding in doing so.

"And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives," Tom's voice was lethally quiet, dangerously calm. His wand shifted defensively, but Tom didn't spare his own a glance. "I can see why you'd want to keep that to yourself."

"I can obliviate you if you'd prefer," he offered, unthinkingly, on the impulse of repartee. Tom's face was like stone.

"And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives," Tom repeated again, but almost musingly this time, and his eyes had grown distant. "Correct me I'm wrong," and Harry felt a jolt of shock that he was actually being included in Tom's no doubt speeding thought process. "But that means you or the "Dark Lord" must kill each other, as you will never truly live while you are fighting…if one takes the premise that Voldemort would not stop hunting you, while you will not yield to him and so must kill him if you want to continue any form of pleasant existence."

"That's what I thought," he admitted quietly, eyeing Tom's wand. The Slytherin Heir shifted abruptly.

"Then by that reckoning I should murder you right here right now, I'm fully capable of rendering this an unfair fight. I could kill you easily. Prophecy done. Would you still agree with the prophecy then?"

"I think we should ignore the prophecy…" Harry said, heart pounding. "Screw Fate. It's what we've been doing anyway right…and you said you'd try not to think differently."

He refused to die here, on this Astronomy tower. Not now.

"Prophecy," Tom stated, in his dictionary-definition voice. "a prediction of a future event that is believed to reveal the will of a deity or a prediction: a prediction that something will occur in the future."

He lapsed into silence, eyes blazing.

"And yet…prophecies can be twisted by the interpretation put on them. The other…the other… and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives….either can mean both or one of the other…what if neither you or Voldemort are the other? Other can mean the remaining, in which it would be you or Voldemort, but it can also refer to a further to what has already been mentioned. You and Voldemort have, presumably, been mentioned…so the other could be me."

"In which case," Harry said quietly, his eyes widening. "And either must die at the hands of the other, of you, for neither can live while the other survives…neither me nor Voldemort can live while you survive because of the-"

"Paradox." Tom finished, eyes lit up. "If I survive Voldemort dies and thus you. I can cause Voldemort to die by not becoming him, while continuing with my plan so you live. Or I can kill you and become Voldemort, in which case he survives and I 'die.'"

Harry felt numb. Dumbledore had made him so sure, the prophecy had seemed so final.

For once, he appreciated Tom's ability to find loopholes in everything that seemed airtight.

Maybe he could get Tom to be a lawyer instead of a Dark Lord? He felt giddy with the tiny bit of hope swelling in his chest.

He glanced over at the other, not relaxed, but not so despairing.

"Prophecies are vague," he said, reminding himself of the fact, safe in that validity of that statement.

Tom's lips twisted.

"Well, I did tell you that I always get what I want, darling."

The end.

* * *

A/N: Well, it's been a long road. Hoping you guys enjoyed it as much as I did. :) Thanks for the reviews, one final effort for feedback, eh?

* * *

A/N#2: Whoa. Mega chapter. I blame the fact I needed writing therapy after how terrible my exam was and went. Urgh. It was horrible, I tell you, HORRIBLE. 

Maybe I should have explained the prophecy in another chapter, I was initially going to leave it where Tom found out, but like I said, writing therapy…what did you guys think of my take on the Prophecy? 

Thanks for the reviews.

PS: In case you hadn't gathered, I'm kidding, it's not really the end ;) 


	123. Chapter 122

Chapter 122:

Two days had passed since the Prophecy revelation, and Harry prayed to Luck that no more would come up.

He also had a detention for destroying the Astronomy Tower, even if it was temporarily…but what was a detention in the scheme of things now? It was Valentine's day in two days, and that was far worse than detention, even if the detention was with Snape.

The whole prophecy scenario was a bit worse than detention too, just a bit.

The current situation was a) either he or Voldemort killed one or other B) Tom killed Voldemort and saved him, Tom killed them both, Tom killed Harry and became Voldemort. The bitter irony with the second interpretation of the prophecy, the better one, was that Tom once again held all the controls and the all situations.

If Tom suddenly teamed with Voldemort to end him, what could he really do? Tom might not be able to threaten his friends, but he knew that if Voldemort did Harry wouldn't be able to help but comply.

The Slytherin Heir had never seemed so dangerous before, but he knew he would never be able to walk away from in. Not truly. The connections went too deep, and it was cutting deeper every second.

He still thought he could add another option though, his control.

The fourth option in interpretation B…make Voldemort be Tom-to-Voldemort in an eternal time loop, and Tom would live, and he would live.

It was essentially the same as the third option of interpretation b, except for the fact that his friends didn't get sacrificed.

It was odd. In a way, he was on Tom's side in the prophecy - they were avoiding interpretation a - but then they were both still racing for the conclusion they wanted.

Hermione was making some leeway with the time spell, and Harry had three Horcruxes to still track down.

Hufflepuff's cup, and two as of yet unknown objects. He'd been trying frantically to think of what they might be. With two Horcruxes, Voldemort still looked like Tom, more or less - Ring and Diary.

With cup and locket, and possibly one of the two unknowns…he looked waxy, like he had when he requested the job. But why had he requested the job? Because he genuinely wanted it, because he wanted to be at Hogwarts, he wanted to be able to influence people.

The Horcruxes were in places of significance, both Dumbledore had confirmed that. So far there had been the Locket, the origin of which he didn't know, and the ring which was to do with his family and in the place that connected him to his pure Slytherin ancestry.

What other places could be significant to Voldemort? Or Tom.

Hogwarts.

He knew how much Hogwarts meant to Tom, and as inconceivable as it might initially seem, it was possible that there was a Horcrux hidden at Hogwarts.

What places in Hogwarts was special to Tom/Voldemort? And safe? Not the Slytherin Common Room, a curious snake could come across it and compromise it.

The Chamber of Secrets. Possible…but when would he have got a Horcrux there? If his next ones were the cup and Marvolo

. How would he have got a Horcrux anywhere in Hogwarts for that matter, unless….unless that was another motivation to coming up to the school for a job interview.

Hermione and Ron may have laughed if they knew his thoughts, but he just knew that there was a Horcrux in Hogwarts. The question was where: the Chamber…or the Room of Requirement…a room that could be anything, and provide any type of protection that one needed to hide a soul.

It could be a room in a thousand, and no would come across it unless they were specifically looking for it, would they? But what would it be?

So far all but one of the Horcruxes had been linked to Hogwarts…and with that overwhelming link how had Dumbledore not thought a Horcrux was here? His thoughts were a mess.

He didn't have the time to sort them out, not anymore, not properly.

It was February, so he had until about…June?

Four months to solve a time paradox. Four months to track down three Horcruxes, for Hermione to create a time-travelling spell, four months to find a way to get Voldemort to feel remorse…and four months to also get the ring off Tom.

Before he may have scoffed at the question of how much could possible happen or go wrong in four months…but this last year alone had been so full of twists that it felt unreal. Four months in which to beat Tom, who had an unfair head start.

There was no more time for games and sidetracks.

He needed to be clever, and this was the test on how much he knew Tom and Voldemort, wasn't it? His future and the future of the Wizarding world depended on how well he could second guess them. No pressure.

Deductions so far: his time was running out, and there was a Horcrux in Hogwarts.

Hogwarts was key, something that seemed to link things.

Except the Diary. The origin of the Diary was Lucius Malfoy…and, oh, he was stupid.

What if another Death Eater had a Horcrux too? Somehow. They would have to embody something Tom/Voldemort admired…Malfoy's were pure. The purest of the old dark families.

The Death Eater would also have to be extremely loyal.

Questions to still think on: what were the remaining Horcruxes, where were they, and who was the loyalist of them all?

"-Harry!"

Harry startled abruptly out of his thoughts at Hermione's voice. Both her and Ron were staring at him, with some measure of worry.

It was dinner, and he was at the Gryffindor table for once. Somewhere along the line, probably when the lions had kicked him out, the routine of breakfast with Slytherins, lunch with Gryffindors and dinner with either had fallen into the forgotten crevices of memory.

"Sorry, what?"

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, with the air of someone who had asked this question before. Harry smiled, automatically.

"Yeah. Fine."

The smile faded a bit under the expressions they wore. He curled his fingers tighter around his cutlery.

"You've been very quiet," Ron prompted tentatively.

"I have stuff to think about," he muttered, studying them.

He wanted to tell them about the prophecy, he really did, but was it their burden to carry? If they were worrying from silence they were going to worry a lot more over a fated murder situation. He sighed.

They were his best friends.

He didn't know. Not now, at any rate.

"It's complicated," he admitted. "I'm not sure if I'm ready to talk about it."

His best friends, unlike a certain Slytherin Heir, would accept that - they may not be happy about it, but they would accept it if he didn't look to be about to drop dead or anything. Hermione looked down at her plate.

"What did Riddle do now?" Ron demanded.

If it wasn't simultaneously so sad, so irritating, he would have laughed at the assumption that Tom was to blame. To be fair, it was a justified response. He just couldn't find the fact that his best friends hated his…well, other really close friend, for want of a better term. Not that Tom was any better regarding Ron and Hermione…he only hoped Tom had never acted on his psychotic behaviour…surely Ron and Hermione would tell him if he did?

He chewed his lip, before going for it, lowering his voice, knowing well enough that the loud babble of the lions around them would mask their conversation well.

"Ron, do you know who Voldemort's left hand is?"

The red-head went startlingly pale, like porridge, flinching at the name, and for a moment he felt almost guilty for asking.

There was a fuzzy warmth of trust and loyalty in his stomach when Ron still answered, not questioning why he wanted to know.

"Lucius Malfoy, the slimy git. That's what dad always said."

Harry felt a small swell of disappointment, but deftly crushed it.

"No one else?" he asked, trying to relay that this was important.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," another voice said, quietly.

Harry stiffened, whipping around, only to relax as he noticed that the words had come from Neville. Neville was often with Ron and Hermione now, and the shy boy seemed largely trustworthy enough.

He frowned that the other Gryffindor had heard though, from across the table, and scanned his eyes around quickly to see if their conversation had drawn anymore unwanted attention. It hadn't.

"Bellatrix Lestrange?" he repeated, the name stirring something, a memory…but where?

Okay, firstly, why would Neville know her name? From his Grandmother, from-oh. The trial. He knew the name from the trial from Dumbledore's pensieve, in his fourth year (calling it last year was too confusing.)

She was one of the Death Eaters that had tortured Neville's parents into insanity. He swallowed down bile, meeting the other boy's hard gaze.

"Thanks," he said softly.

Neville's eyes narrowed.

"Why do you want to know about Death Eaters?" There was no accusation in his tone, but there was something inexplicable that demanded answer.

Harry blinked, not expecting it, and surveying his fellow Gryffindor closer. He'd changed…a bit. He'd gained confidence since Harry had last truly talked to him, and he'd never honestly got to know Neville.

"Because I need to find something, and I think a top ranking Death Eater - not Lucius Malfoy-" he shot Ron and Hermione a meaningful look, and knew instantly that they knew he was referring to the Diary, the Horcruxes.

To his credit, Neville didn't question this, maybe sensing that Harry wouldn't answer just like he sensed the new confidence in the other boy, merely appearing thoughtful.

Harry tilted his head, considering.

"It might be someplace significant to the Wizarding world, and the thing itself is probably small and portable, but valuable…it would have to be safe."

Neville's brow furrowed, and he favoured him with a strange expression, opening his mouth to say something when Harry's scar exploded with pain, just as an otter patronus appeared in the hall, before the staff table.

Everything went deadly silent, and Harry stifled a moan, a horrible feeling in his stomach at the tumult of emotions rolling towards him through the link.

He struggled to tighten his Occlumency barriers, boost them into something stronger, all the while keep a watery gaze on the otter.

_St Mungo's is under attack. St Mungo's is under attack. We need help. The Death Eaters are coming. Come quickly. _

And the world erupted into chaos.

* * *

Students were screaming, with the staff frantically trying to calm them. S

ilently, Harry stood up, trying to wave his way through the stampede, his mind whirling.

St Mungo's? Under attack? That made no sense! Why was Voldemort attacking St Mungo's…what was the motive? It was a key place for any resistance against him, a crippling blow to the ability to recuperate after raids…but…Tom never had just one motive, even ulterior motives, and he wasn't naïve enough to assume Voldemort didn't share that trait.

A diversion? Another wave of pain engulfed his head, and for a moment it swallowed him and his shield wavered, giving him a flash of a gold marble fountain, screaming people, before his shields snapped up with a sharp burst of emotion.

The Ministry.

The Prophecy.

_Shit. _

"Harry!" Hermione caught his arm, fiercely. "You can't be going there! Voldemort wants to kill you, it's stupid, Dumbledore will-"

"_Harry._" Another voice. Tom's.

The Slytherin appeared by his side, only the dark glint of his eyes suggesting anything was wrong.

Harry turned, dismissing Hermione for the moment with an apologetic look, but not having time to observe social niceties.

"It's a diversion," he explained quickly. "Voldemort's after the prophecy-"

Hermione and Ron both gave a sharp intake of breath, their stares burning into the side of his face. He ignored that too; he'd had enough practise ignoring Tom, Salazar knew.

"-I know," Tom replied, before casting a glance at his best friends and grabbing hold of his arm to push him in front and manoeuvre them both away through the crowd which was beginning to calm under McGonnagal.

Dumbledore had gone.

"**Come on, let's go," **Tom murmured.

Harry barely contained his surprise, having expected a massive fight about this. Tom must have picked up on it, for the elder shot him a look.

"It's disaster for both of us and our respective plans if gramps gets hold of that Prophecy before we're ready…and I don't trust you enough to leave you unattended because I know full well that you're going to find a way to get there even if I handcuff you to my bed - and yes, I did consider it-" Tom added at his alarmed, disbelieving expression "-and therefore, you're coming with me where I can at least keep an eye on you."

That was the most insulting explanation he'd ever heard.

"I don't need you to babysit me," he snapped as the doors to the Great Hall slammed behind them.

Tom's grip on his arm tightened.

"Indeed," the young Dark Lord's voice was dry, "babysitting is a temporary job and you get paid for it…keeping you relatively unscathed is full time occupation and has none of the monetary perks."

Harry didn't allow himself to gape at the response.

"This is coming from the boy who throws childish temper tantrums when he can't get his own way? Dealing with your mood swings is a full time occupation!"

"I can still stun and handcuff you to something immovable," Tom said pointedly. Harry sneered.

"Oh yeah, sure, run into Voldemort alone. I'm sure he'll leave _you _unscathed…well, physically. He might just obliviate you, but hey, no big deal. No. I'm coming with you."

They studied each other for a brief moment, fully aware there was still some tensions that needed to be worked out. There normally was.

Tom nodded. He nodded back.

"**We can use the floo in Dumbledore's Office**_," _he hissed, deciding that from now on it might be prudent to keep all plans and decisions in parseltongue, so no one but them and Voldemort could hear - which was better than everyone. By the flash of approval on Tom's features, the other agreed wholeheartedly. "**I know the password," **he added.

"**Lead the way." **

Sprinting, they reached the office in record times, and Harry muttered the password, feeling absolutely no regret in entering without permission.

He grabbed some floo powder, stepping towards the fire place, only for Tom to yank him back roughly.

"**If they see us, they might curse on sight. We need a plan. A disguise." **

"**Are we assuming Death Eaters, as the ministry members would all be dealing with St Mungo's?" **Harry questioned, thinking furiously. Tom inclined his head, and was silent for a moment, before he smirked, flicking his wand.

Two bone white masks appeared in the other's hands. Harry's heart dropped.

"**Enjoy your lucky day of being a Death Eater, darling, and put it on." **

* * *

A/N: So, not the end ;) and not the best chapter either. But the next one…the next one should be good. I think I've come to the conclusion that I have varyingly bad bad filler chapters after big events, and then more things happening which the filler leads onto. Like mini story arcs in the big story arcs. Huh. I truly apologise for the crappy filler chapter…but…have hope for the next one? 

I'm quite busy with reality, so I don't know when the next one will be, but I promise to try and make it epically brilliant. I've found that if I don't force myself to write these, admittedly not up to par, chapters to stepstone to the next part, that I just stall writing this story at all. Can't go too long without updating or writing then...

Thank you tons for the reviews - you guys are AMAZING, I cannot say that enough times. Tom and Harry love you =)

**PS: On my Writer's Network site (link on my profile) on which I post all my original work, I've uploaded the first two chapters of my novel. Anyone care to check it out and tell me what you think…?**


	124. Chapter 123

Chapter 123: (haha)

Distracted momentarily, when Hermione next looked around, both Harry and Tom had disappeared into the mania of panicked students, and were nowhere to be seen.

Her blood rushed about her ears with a horrible sense of forbidding, and a little bit of hurt. Before, Harry had always come to her and Ron about these things, and now, he dismissed them without effort and ran off with the Slytherin Heir.

And what was this about a prophecy?

Another secret, another something that Harry had kept from. Her stomach churned uneasily. She just didn't know what do anymore; she knew that people drifted apart, that their friendship had done just that, but it still stung to be left behind for something better.

Sometimes, she wished the whole last year would simply rewind, before Harry met Tom, and everything imploded. Maybe she was selfish…she liked hanging out with Ron and Neville, she really did. But she missed Harry, and on some level she hoped he missed them too.

He didn't seem to, he seemed too busy and caught up in his new life to care about theirs, or mourn the absence and splintering of "the golden trio."

She wanted him to be happy though, and if she thought Tom made him happy she'd let him go without question…and he was happy, but then, he was sad too.

It only took a small moment of consideration to see how messed up Tom and Harry's…friendship was; they fought nearly all the time, and lashed out and struggled and….sometimes it seemed the whole thing just made Harry miserable, just as much as it made him happy.

Somewhere in her heart, she knew that to be completely true…but she also knew, perhaps instinctually, that Harry would never be fully satisfied with being their Harry again.

Without Tom.

It was perfectly evident to her that they needed each other - they didn't want to be around each all the time - but they certainly needed each other, and didn't function so well under separation. Harry at Grimmauld with Tom and without Tom were like two different people, and the latter was just a shadow…and Tom, well, she didn't know what it was yet, but he needed Harry too, and clung back just as fiercely, so possessively that her and Ron were slipping down into the cracks to childhood categories.

Harry and Tom were messed up, so very messed up that many viewed their dynamic to be unhealthy or toxic, but for whatever reason they fulfilled some quota for each other that no one else came close to touching.

She sighed.

Harry was happy, despite the severity of the situation, both had sort of shone brighter than before with challenge and whatever else once they got into each other's vicinity.

That was why she didn't chase them down.

* * *

Harry and Tom ducked behind a large pillar, pressing flat against it, breathing heavily.

The Ministry Atrium had been over run, by Death Eaters and ministry members alike - the Aurors were all at St Mungo's thankfully, but other ministry members remained.

They duelled a little, Harry trying to not to seriously wound any well-mea

ning bureaucrat who duelled him, however much he disliked the Ministry, whereas Tom didn't bother with any refrain. He fully suspected Tom had enjoyed himself even.

There was an adrenaline rush to it, he supposed, but Harry preferred to avoid hurting people when he could.

"**Do you know where there are any black marble corridors?" **Tom hissed, apparently trying to figure out where, here, the prophecy would be.

"**Department of Mysteries,**" he replied. Tom shot him a curious look. "**I went there for my trial - right, I never told you about that. Never mind. Anyway." **

Harry shook his head as if to dismiss the question, cautiously peering down the side of the column and into the corridor that had been swarming a few minutes ago.

Every ministry member was heading to the Atrium to defend against the Death Eaters - idiots. Didn't they realise that just left the rest of the ministry unprotected?

It was disconcerting seeing Tom with a Death Eater mask on, and his own reflection made him twitch and want to curse himself too. Distractions.

"**You know," **he remarked, offhandedly, "**you should really remodel these things. They limit vision too much." **

"**You're seriously going to discuss that - **_**now?"**_ Tom demanded, incredulously, before grabbing his wrist when he moved to pull the offending item off his face. "**Stop it. There's no point having a disguise if you're just going to remove it. You're being childish."**

"**And your intentions on forcing me to wear it in the first place, over another disguise, was completely honourable and mature, of course," **he drawled sarcastically. "**Coast's clear, come on." **

He used the Slytherin Heir's grip on his wrist to tug him forward, creeping forward quickly, senses alert for any sign of someone coming around.

They settled into a relatively comfortable silence, relatively because there was nothing comfortable about breaking into the Ministry after a mass murdering Dark Lord who was trying to kill you…

"**What happens if Voldemort already has it?" **Harry questioned, as they slid into a lift. Tom glanced at him.

"**You won't stick around to play hero, that's for certain,"** all humour had disappeared once more, replaced by a steel undertone of command. Harry disregarded it without regret.

"**I'm not leaving you to deal with him, if that's what you're suggesting,"** he replied stubbornly. "**Playing the hero doesn't suit you much either, Tom. You make a far better villain."**

A cool voice announced that they were arriving at the Department of Mysteries.

"**And yet you won't join me?" **Tom raised his brows. Harry felt his lips tug, just slightly.

"**Well, everyone knows the villain never wins," **he replied, something of a joke in his voice, and then something else, darker, more painful.

The doors slid open, and they stepped out, only to come face to face with the one person they hadn't particularly wanted to run into.

His heart stopped.

Voldemort.

* * *

Tom stepped forward immediately, anticipating that Harry would do the same and grabbing his arm to prevent that. He didn't anticipate that Harry knew well enough what he'd planned, and had stepped to the side first, out of his reach.

His eyes flashed dangerously, and he resisted the urge glare at the younger boy, figuring now would not be a good time to automatically focus his attention on Harry, as opposed to his elder counterpart.

"Fancy meeting you here," he greeted lightly, trying to gauge if the other knew the full extent of the Prophecy yet or not.

Voldemort wasn't looking at him, which was frankly insulting as it implied he _wasn't _the greatest threat in the room, but had his own gaze fixed on Harry.

The Prophecy Child. The Boy who Lived. The Chosen One.

Okay. That didn't bode well. Harry surveyed the other, probably coming to the same conclusion as him.

_Voldemort knew. _

"If you attack him, I will end you out of spite," he warned quietly, without threat, just a ring of promise and fact.

"I gathered," Voldemort still hadn't looked at him, and neither had Harry for that matter…now he really was offended. "Otherwise I would have his head removed from his shoulders by now."

Harry's grip on his wand tightened, shifting.

"_**If you **__**dare**__** I will find a way to destroy you, even if I have to come back as a Poltergeist!" **_Harry hissed, venomously, every inch the snake with none of the lion - except perhaps in the bravery of defying who he was defying.

It was clear enough that Harry wasn't speaking in Parseltongue for subterfuge anymore; he'd slipped. Tom was starting to feel like he'd missed something, especially as Voldemort was still favouring Harry with an odd, unreadable, challenging gaze.

Voldemort smiled thinly, stuffed with malice.

"If he dares what?" Tom questioned, sharply. There was no answer.

He narrowed his eyes, studying them both for clues.

Harry had said "if you dare," suggesting Voldemort had given some sort of threat, though it wasn't spoken. It could have been mental, through the link, but he doubted Harry would open his mind to that in anything less than an emergency or pure desperation.

Therefore, it could have been Harry second-guessing Voldemort's actions by some nuance of emotion, or a conversation they'd had before. Harry had known that the time paradox threatened his existence too, as did free choices, after his last conversation with the older Dark Lord.

They had talked about Tom. The threat could have been made then.

Harry had seemed worried about him being Obliviated, he'd…oh.

Voldemort wasn't going to harm him or kill him, both would result in consequences neither of them desired, but he could still wipe his memory…and then Tom would leave, become Voldemort presumably, and then he/they would kill Harry right here, right now, with no threat of Tom destroying them after, out of spite.

He blinked for a moment at the complexity of time travel, before shaking himself from falling into a tangent of scholarly thought.

"Considering by your own admission the villain never wins," he said quietly, "one could argue that your incessant desire to save me is rather pointless."

He was gratified to find that, this time, Harry's attention automatically snapped to him, before back to the enemy. Okay, so maybe it wasn't a good idea to distract him from defending himself against people who were trying to kill him, but it was utterly infuriating to be ignored.

Still, he couldn't help but feel a slight smugness, and he knew that even if Harry was oblivious to it, Voldemort most certainly wasn't.

_Jealous._

He quirked his lips into an arrogant smirk, watching those features harden.

Harry looked incredibly uncomfortable, though Tom wasn't altogether sure whether or not it was because he was picking up in this silent communication, or because of his last remark.

He was going to guess the latter, because he knew he'd never highlighted that specific aspect of Harry's hero-complex so openly. Normally, he mocked Harry's saving other people, never himself.

"It's the hero-complex," Harry deadpanned, voice even in a way that Tom knew meant he was trying very hard to sustain the casual neutrality with which he was speaking.

"He's a sucker for lost causes," Voldemort added snidely, apparently unable to stand watching them 'banter' before him. "He's the saviour of the light, you can hardly find a cause more lost than that."

"And yet Dumbledore didn't spend thirteen years as a weird ghost thing," Harry returned cuttingly. "That was just you."

Scarlet eyes darkened.

"No, Dumbledore just wants you to go ahead and kill yourself, loving leader that he is…and for the first time, I find I must agree with him. Why don't you go and die, Potter? Then at least your friends wouldn't die for you."

Harry immediately went rigid, while Tom's jaw clenched.

He and Harry argued an awful lot, and didn't generally have all that many boundaries, but there were limits and lines that neither crossed - and that comment batted the line aside completely and trampled it.

Besides, Harry was his to wound or comfort as he wished - no one else had a right.

And then he realised the game, at the exact the same time that Harry spoke.

"Leave, Tom," he ordered, curtly.

Threat full circle; Harry would never let anything happen to anyone he even remotely cared about after such a statement, and so he would happily ensure Tom was safe even it left him with no barriers between him and a man the other knew to still be immortal.

Bloody martyr.

The worst part was that he knew Harry had figured out the bait just as well as he had, but he was defiantly grabbing onto the fishhook anyway.

A lot of people may claim that Harry had no self worth, but Tom knew enough about subtleties to know that wasn't true…Harry was too independent, too untamed and _alive _to have no self-worth…he didn't think himself worthless, he just viewed himself as worth less than his friends.

Tom refused to cater to such crap.

He shifted to a more offensive duelling stance, hoping to make his position perfectly evident.

"What have I said about you and heroism?" he questioned, a menacing edge to his tone.

"Numerous things, none of them flattering," Harry replied, in a careless manner. "I think I must have forgotten them along with the time I agreed to taking orders from you…oh…wait…that never happened!"

He studied the other, coldly, fully aware that on Harry's 'mental stability' scale he was rapidly sliding towards the 10 end on the spectrum.

For once, it would have been fabulous if Harry did do just that. Take an order. Normally, he - perhaps grudgingly - admired the younger's iron will and lack of submission, but in times like these he loathed it with equal measure. It was only fools who thought you couldn't deeply love and hate something or someone at the same time.

Love wasn't the opposite of Hate, they were siblings, for they both involved strong emotion. The opposing reaction was apathy, indifference.

He saw Voldemort's gaze dart to him with sheer alarm as he analysed his options at lightning speed, with all the ferocity of a trapped snake.

Then he acted.

* * *

Harry let out an involuntarily yelp as a force abruptly tugged him backwards, a savage grip yanking him roughly into the lift behind them just as the doors slammed shut again.

Tom's hold on his arm was relentless, violent, intended to be painful and punishing.

The lift gave a weird judder, and they ducked the curse that exploded just above their heads as, with a scream of unadulterated rage from Voldemort, they were whizzing away.

"**When the lift stops, I do not **_**care**_** if children are getting murdered in front of your eyes, you are going to bloody well **_**run**_** and we are going to **_**leave. **_**Is that clear?"** Tom hissed, shaking him. "**And I swear if you don't I will find and slaughter a village just to spite you."**

**"**Excuse me for not wanting to watch you get caught in a crossfire you should never have gotten involved in!"

"And you can add that remark to the long list of things I _will_ be dealing with when we get back to Hogwarts," Tom replied, dangerously, shoving him out the lift.

Death Eaters.

Lots of Death Eaters.

Death Eaters that all looked very much like they had orders if the fact that they all rounded on the two of them was any indication. Dark marks burned jet black against white masks.

He could sense Voldemort growing closer, far too fast.

There was no where to run to, not now.

"Aww, look, what do we have here Rodolphus…ickle students out of bed?"

* * *

A/N: Hope it's not disappointing. Thank you for the reviews!

I have up to chapter 3 posted of my original novel, thank you so so much to everyone who gave me feedback on it - this chapter is dedicated to you :)

Now, I should be sleeping...


	125. Chapter 124

Chapter 124:

"Clever boy," she smirked, cruelly, a twist of her lips. "And you are?"

"My identity is not your concern," Tom said, "though the fact you don't know makes me doubt your own intelligence and position….the Dark Lord didn't tell you?"

If the situation wasn't so dire, Harry would claim they were having an evil smirk-off, but the situation was dire, and so he pushed the thought away dismissively before it could settle in hysteria.

Bellatrix's eyes flashed.

"The Dark Lord trusts me above everyone else," she sneered. Despite how they really should be running, Harry seized on the thought. Bellatrix…trustworthy….loyalist…Horcrux?

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," he remarked, lazily, tauntingly. Dark eyes snapped to him.

"I have no need to ask who you are…itty, bitty, _baby _Potter," she crooned, before growing more serious, lips drawn back in snarl. "Or is it, as rumour would have it, Potter Evans?"

"Potter Evans Perevell Gryffindor, if you want to get into the specifics of it…though personally I find that a bit of a mouthful," he replied easily. "Now, if you'll excuse us…" he curled his fingers on Tom's sleeve in an indication to move, because Voldemort would be here any moment and his scar was burning despite his shields.

Wands raised more pointedly

."You're not leaving," Rodolphus (?) deadpanned, with a crazed glint in his gaze.

"That's right," Bellatrix laughed, wildly, taking a step forward. "The party's only just starting, and the Dark Lord bids the two of you to stay, it would be very rude of you to leave now…what's the rush?" she bared her teeth at him, widening her eyes. "Don't you like us?"

There was a roar of raucous laughter from what he presumed was the lesser Death Eaters, the lower ranking ones, who flanked the three at the front - Bellatrix, Rodolphus and…Lucius Malfoy.

Oh if Abraxas was here! Wasn't there meant to be two Lestrange brothers? Where was the other one? His thoughts were frenzied.

"Well, if you want an honest opinion…" he smiled coldly, insinuating. No. He didn't like them. He had no love lost for any Death Eater.

Lucius was regarding Tom warily, his mercury eyes narrow with fear and suspicion. Voldemort was getting closer. He would be there any moment.

Harry could feel the world narrowing in on them, and the dozen or so Death Eaters that surrounded them. He exchanged a quick look with Tom.

Then they began to duel.

* * *

Abraxas chased after Zevi, who pulled Harry's friends to a halt at the foot of the Grand Staircase.

"Hey-get off her!" Weasley growled, but the Prince Heir paid the red head no need, dragging Hermione off out of the crowd of students heading to their respective common rooms.

"Where's Harry?" Zevi demanded. He stopped next to the other boy, studying the brown-haired mudblood carefully, his features composed.

"With Tom," she said, a hint of worry in her voice, along with an infusion of resignation. "I'm not sure where they went…why?" she bit her lip. "Do you think something's wrong?"

He and Zevi exchanged looks, their left arms burning uncomfortably.

Alphard had gone in search of Sirius Black…and Lestrange, well, it didn't really matter what Lestrange was doing! He was nothing anymore. The twit was probably whining in hopes some first year Hufflepuff would pay him attention.

"Oh god," Granger moaned, having taken their silence as some form of confirmation. "I knew I should have gone after them!"

"They wouldn't have appreciated it," Zevi told her, distractedly. "Tom, certainly not, if he wanted you to come he would have made it perfectly evident."

"Tom came over, to find Harry, didn't he?" Abraxas verified, crowding her.

Weasley seemed about to say something, but he couldn't be bothered to focus on the ginger. If Weasley's had any sense to contribute to a discussion, they wouldn't be filthy poor blood traitors.

"Yes," she said, and he could see her thinking furiously. "I-does a Prophecy mean anything to you?"

Abraxas caught his reaction in a way only a Malfoy-raised pureblood could, stifling the widening of his eyes and the shock in his magic. Zevi did the same, but his jaw tightened almost unnoticeably.

"They mentioned a Prophecy?" he demanded.

"Are you certain? What else did they say? Did they say-"

"They just said that Voldemort's after the prophecy!"

He went rigid.

Voldemort.

He still wasn't used to hearing that name, Tom's name, the ramifications of that name, and the possible future identity of their lord.

A fine name, but distorted it seemed by the passing of years. Weasley flinched, violently, and it gave him some gratification, but not much.

He looked at Zevi, not really sure if they should be doing this.

Tom liked initiative, but only when it suited him, worked well and didn't interfere with his plans. He didn't like it when they pried into his affairs…but…he couldn't escape the feeling something was wrong.

The Dark mark burned in his arm, in all of their arms - burning so hot that he almost cried out at the pain of it. Tom clearly wanted their attention, if it was even Tom at all...

His stomach twisted with unease.

"The ministry," he murmured. "My father…in the Department of Ministries…they keep prophecies…"

"They've gone to the Ministry?" Granger cottoned on quickly, despite the fact that he was actually directing his observations at Zevi.

"Is he in trouble?" Weasley demanded, looking about to shake them. "Stop being so bloody evasive, and just tell us - Merlin! I'm going to _kill _Riddle if he dragged Harry into trouble!"

"More likely to be the other way round, ginger," he snapped coolly. "Tom's the careful one out of those two."

"With Voldemort?" Granger questioned furiously, apparently ignoring Weasley's flinch too. "We have to go after them! Are you sure that's where they've gone!"

"Oh no, no," he said quickly, grabbing her arm…wasn't she supposed to be _intelligent_? Gryffindors! "If the Dark Lord is there, we cannot go there, and you most definitely can't.

""Well, I'm not going to abandon Harry if he's in trouble!" she retorted, coldly. "Get off me, Malfoy!"

"You don't understand-"

"-Slytherin cowardice, no I can't say we do," Weasley interrupted brashly. "Come on, Hermione."

"-Look, Granger," he tightened his grip on her, inwardly cringing at being this close to the taint of her muggle blood. Salazar. He was going to have to use so much disinfectant after this! "If you go, you are just going to be a liability to them!" he said bluntly, harshly. "You're smart, your heritage aside, surely you've noticed Harry, at least, has a bit of a saving people thing? If you get anywhere near him when Voldemort, or even Tom is fighting with him, you aren't going to be any help to him, you're merely something else he has to protect and keep his attention on!"

"The Dark Lord would use you against him without hesitation," Zevi cut in, his gaze blazing. "You'd be better off going to alert someone to where they've gone."

Granger seemed swayed by the logic and rationality of this, as well as by her love of authority, though it conflicted with her immediate desire to help her friend.

Weasley appeared stubborn, unmoved. He silently prepared to stun him if he had to; it would be his pleasure.

"What are you going to do?" she asked. Abraxas couldn't help but admire her resoluteness, and the fact that she hadn't gone into a total panic, as well as her loyalty.

"Meet my son."

* * *

Harry was fighting, wildly, viciously - using the Dark magic he'd restrained from for so long, as well as the light. Death Eaters lay fallen around them, mostly the lesser ones.

He ducked Voldemort's curse.

Tom was duelling a multitude of Death Eaters, not exactly by preference, but as they were all coming for them one of them had to deal with them, and Voldemort wasn't casting curses at his younger self currently.

It made more sense for Harry to defend himself, rather than duel Death Eaters as Tom protected him from Voldemort.

That, and to be honest, he'd rather keep Voldemort and Voldemort's memory charms away from Tom. His breath was harsh, his muscles straining with exertion.

It was difficult duelling, but he liked to believe he was holding his own okay. He wasn't unscathed, but neither was Voldemort.

They weren't going to win though, they both knew that, they didn't have the same level of training and experience as their opponents, however above their age level they were, and there were simply too many opponents to contend with.

It was just a matter of stalling, and trying to edge their way to a place where they could _run_ or pause for just a _minute _to activate Tom's ever present to portkey.

Sure, it would take them to Little Hangleton first, not straight to Hogwarts, but anywhere was better than here. As derogatory as it was, and how honest, it was only because the Death Eaters had orders not to seriously or permanently harm or kill Tom that the other wasn't overwhelmed, and it was only that none of the Death Eaters targeted him while he duelled Voldemort that he was still standing.

It was two against fifteen or so, or, two against nine by now - but those were nonetheless harsh odds. And it was exhausting.

He and Tom were back to back, and though that automatically prevented sneak attacks, it also somewhat limited movement.

Twenty minutes later, the superior number of their enemy finally won out, though neither of them could have said who was the weak link.

It happened too fast - he didn't know if he'd been distracted by Tom's involuntary sound of pain, and then Voldemort's curse had promptly hit him in that split-second of non-attention…or if Voldemort's spell had already hit him, distracted Tom for the moment it took for him to get hit himself.

It happened too fast, but the end result was the same, and they ended up defeated.

Everything seemed to stand still - and then a green light was soaring in his direction.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

* * *

Tom reacted on instinct, tightening the restriction he had on the mark, wincing as Harry smacked into him, sending them both to the floor.

The killing curse hit the spot Harry had just been standing in, leaving an ugly scar on the floor. Voldemort's gaze shot to him, menacing, murderous.

He muttered a spell quickly, ignoring the beginnings of Harry's protest, or struggle, he hooked his arm strongly around Harry's chest in anticipation of his next move, and met the Dark Lord's eyes with vicious challenge as a sharp pain shot through his heart from the magic he had just cast.

The room had suddenly gone deathly silent.

"What the hell did you just do?" Harry asked, his voice a mutter.

"I tied my life to yours," he replied, loudly, to drive the point in further.

Voldemort took several slow steps towards him, making no sound except the softest swish of his robes on the floor. The air between was wrought with electricity and danger.

He sincerely hoped Harry could keep up with like he suspected, that he'd caught on to the plan…

"Very clever, Tom," Voldemort breathed. "What next? You've solved nothing, that spells not complete, and so can be reversed. You need Potter to agree to it for it to become permanently binding, and I can't see that happening, can you?"

Yew levelled in their direction once more, unwavering.

He could feel his heart pounding.

"I don't need it to be binding, because I won't willingly reverse it," he returned quickly. "**Kill Harry, and we all go up in smoke…is it worth it, gramps?" **

Voldemort's eyes were scarlet slits of rage and hatred, humiliation.

"I can still obliviate you.

""No," Harry protested, abruptly, desperately, struggling even more in his grip. "Don't you _dare!"_

"And then what?" he dared, cutting over the younger, aware that at some point this conversation had become to be about him and Voldemort alone. Their power play, their fight, not really Harry's so much this time.

This was about which of them could outsmart the other, which of them was _better. _

And he would not lose.

The Death Eaters were watching intently, somehow sensing the importance of this conversation - especially the Slytherins, who must recognise the shift and swirl of power and dominance.

If he could fragment Voldemort's forces, take them for his own…

"I have no memory, his life is tied to mine…you don't suppose I'd give up on him on the understanding that he must hold some significance to me for me to half form that spell?"

"**You would if I tortured you. No one will stand the crucio, least of all you, for some boy they can't remember." **That yew wand levelled in his direction. "**Without your memories, you are me." **

"Are you willing to bet on that?"

Voldemort circled, levelling the yew wand in the direction of his head.

"Goodbye, Tom Riddle - _obliviate!" _

* * *

A/N: So, it's short...but this seemed like such a perfect place to stop it. Or maybe i'm sadistic. But it seemed like a good place to stop it to me.

I feel this story is lagging again though. Hmm. But I also feel like I should push on to the end, and I know i'll enjoy writing the next few chapters and the end and stuff in between at least. I think it's when some scenes just jar me. Like action scenes. I'm not good with action. I'm better with the character-y talk-y aftermaths, or so I've found.

I'm rambling.

Hope it wasn't too disappointing - wish me luck for my exam tomorrow!  
I'll try and update with a better chapter soon, don't want you guys to lose interest, that would be depressing :)

PS: SCORE! I got an offer from my first choice of uni! Best Creative writing course in the whole country! Yes! :D  
I just have to get the grades now...

PPS: If any of you have tumblr, I posted my blog link thing on my profile, if you're looking for people to follow!


	126. Chapter 125

Chapter 125:

Bellatrix watched gleefully as Potter lurched violently in the other boy's grip, probably in an effort to put his heroic self between the memory charm and his friend's head.

It didn't work, his friend - Riddle, Tom Riddle? - was holding him extremely tightly, they were practically melding into each other in a tangle of shifting grip and tussling, and so the curse hit dead on.

Potter looked absolutely terrified, his eyes aglow with a flame, and then the grip Riddle had on him slackened.

Her Lord shone with triumph and dark, seductive satisfaction…and then just the tiniest bit of something else, that she couldn't read.

"_No_," Potter shook his head. "Shit, no _- Tom?_"

Riddle's gaze cast to the Chosen One in a slight frown, icy, after a while.

"Do I know you?"

Potter's face seemed to crumple totally, but the fire didn't vanish from his devastated, anguished features.

A rustle was growing among the Death Eaters, murmurings that hushed as the Dark Lord circled the two boys in a predatory fashion, directing his wand at Potter.

Her insides bubbled with anticipation - finally, they would see the Boy Who Lived destroyed, and the world would be theirs for the taking.

Oh, her Lord would be so happy!

The Dark Lord inclined his head for someone to drag the struggling saviour back roughly, away from the other boy, and her husband immediately stepped forward, lunging.

Potter was slight of frame, but wiry it seemed, stronger and more powerful than he looked, for in the end it took both Rodolphus and Lucius to tug him backwards, holding him in between them.

Another Death Eater…she cared not for the pathetic man's name, had fallen in the ensuing scuffle.

Riddle watched Potter's movements with sharp, careful eyes, but looked back to the Dark Lord when her Lord crouched before him.

She struggled to remember why she would know the name Riddle…it wasn't a pureblood name, but this Riddle was clearly important to her Lord. Her lord was hissing something, and Potter was obviously reacting to it, but didn't speak for the silencing charm that had been placed on him, his wand and wand hand pinned to his chest in a manner that it could break with the slightest pressure from Lucius.

After a moment, Riddle rose to his feet, regarding them all intently, suspiciously.

He walked over to Potter, grabbing the boy's jaw harshly, before moving his fringe aside with the tip of his…yew wand.

Yew, like the Dark Lord, but that was surely a coincidence.

When he next spoke, it was in English…and oh, this Riddle was a parseltongue? What did all of this mean?

Fury struck her gut at the thought that the Dark Lord had an heir, with someone that wasn't her.

"If what you say is true," Riddle said softly, staring into emerald eyes. "Then I will kill him myself."

* * *

Voldemort crouched before the boy, knowing he had to do this perfectly, and studying the eyes of his younger self intently.

He knew Tom had a Munin Band, but he also remembered being him, and so had guessed the combination accordingly, and added the power to overwhelm it simultaneously.

He indicated for someone to drag Potter back, not wanting the prophecy child unwatched and close to him when he was dealing with Tom, and ignoring the ensuing fight aside from an inward sneer as Selwynn collapsed under Potter's wand.

Potter…he'd never hated anyone so much. The boy was the epitome of everything that he wanted to forget, a constant reminder of his failures and his _past. _

He wanted Tom Riddle gone.

This whole situation was a nightmare.

He clasped a hand on the shoulder of his younger self, slipping into Parseltongue because it was more private, and more likely to inspire a level of trust, comradeship or respect in Tom.

He knew the boy must have really forgotten, otherwise he was sure he would have been reacting to Potter more, to the hiss of his pain and the grind of abused bones and muscles.

There was nothing, but a detached curiosity secondary to a fervent desire to know what was going on.

He kept his wand drawn, recognising the danger of putting Tom in a position in which he would feel remember - his younger self wouldn't remember how he got here.

"**Tom**," he hissed. "**I know this is confusing for you, but you have to listen to me very carefully. My name is Lord Voldemort." **

"**Voldemort…**" violet eyes pierced him, like something out of his worst imaginings, a memory too vivid, a ghost that haunted him incessantly. "**You're me…but that's impossible…unless…time travel…I…"**

"**The boy, over there, his name is Harry Potter. He doesn't look like much, but he manipulated you with knowledge of the future, then drugged and took control of you. He's Dumbledore's right hand man, he's got the man's lightning bolt mark on his forehead, he seeks to take us down and our legacy, and so brought you to the future in hopes of using you against me."**

**"I'm attached to him…I've attached my life to him,"** Tom returne warily, glancing once more at Potter, eyes narrowed. "**How do I know you're not deceiving me?"**

"**I swear upon my magic that Harry Potter is not your friend,"** he felt their magic crackle at the oath, and Riddle went rigid.

He suppressed his smile.

He almost felt sorry for the child…Tom was brilliant, but a teenager ultimately, and no match for his greater experience and knowledge.

"**He used a love potion to make you care for him." **

Tom stood abruptly, venom in his eyes, and for a moment he was disappointed that this hadn't been more of a challenge.

Still, he watched cautiously as Riddle stalked over to Potter, grabbing him harshly (and he supposed some things didn't, unfortunately change,) speaking in low, menacing tones.

In English.

He almost laughed. Tom must have forgotten, otherwise he'd know Potter could speak Parseltongue too.

The amusement drained slightly at the words.

Damn. Perhaps they could do it together…?

Nonetheless, he surveyed Evans icily…maybe….

It would hurt Harry more coming from Tom.

"I wouldn't deny you the chance to torture him," he returned indulgently.

* * *

Zevi raced through the corridors of the ministry, Abraxas at his side.

They came to a a halt at the sound of voices…screams.

Harry's screams.

They continued more slowly, and he rejected the Gryffindorish impulse to rush forwards, and they peered cautiously around the column, wearing notice-me-nots.

It took him a minute to believe what he was seeing.

Harry was being held on his knees between two Death Eaters, one who possessed a remarkable likeness to Abraxas…so his son? While _Tom _held him under what looked to be the cruciatus.

It took him another minute to process the desperate thoughts that this was mistake, and another second to realise that even if it wasn't, there was nothing he could do about it.

His stomach twisted, nausea rising.

_Tom was torturing Harry. _

It didn't seem…right, it just didn't! Why would Tom be?

They annoyed each other all the time, fought and yes, hurt each other, but this was different.

Harry wasn't being given the opportunity to fight back.

Tom _always _let Harry fight back, even if he cheated (according to Harry) to stack the odds more heavily in his favour…he still have Harry the chance if they were fighting.

Sure, he omitted frequently, especially in regards to his plan, but he didn't stop Harry from playing. It was just…wrong to see this.

The agony made him want to cover his ears, and he glanced at Abraxas in horror and desperation. The Malfoy mask was locked in place, and that in itself warned him of his friend's and rival's own response.

"I'll handle my son," Abraxas said tightly, "you cause a diversion…you have the exploding potion on you, right?

""Yes," he said, silently warning Malfoy not to get used to trying to give him orders. "We just need to get Harry free, he'll help us…and Granger should have got back up by now."

"At least the mud blood can do something right then," Abraxas sneered, before shaking the thought away. "Okay, on the count of three…"

* * *

Lucius Malfoy had barely a moment to react, the explosion coming out of nowhere, sending them all to their feet.

Many of the lessers were injured, not having the skills of a veteran to shield quickly against such a surprise attack. He looked wildly around for Potter, who was thrown out of their grip - the Dark Lord would have his head if the Boy-Who-Lived escaped - only to freeze as a wand came around his throat.

The teenager behind him was as tall as him and…Merlin.

"Hello father," Abraxas greeted coldly. "We haven't been formally introduced yet, but I've heard so much about you from my grandson. Sweet kid. Harry saved his life, did you know that?"

He paled. No he hadn't.

Potter had saved his son's life? But they were enemies! Draco had assured him so, rivals…they…he felt lost. Did he owe Potter a life-debt?

He'd feel it if he did, unless…he was so confused.

"Let go of me," he gasped, trying to maintain composure as smoke cleared around them.

He looked around sharply to notice Potter clutched Riddle in a similarly hostage like position, preventing the irate Dark Lord from cursing him.

"This is _treason - _our Lord wouldn't like-"

"Your Lord and mine are two very different people," his father hissed. "And I don't know what's going on here, but my Lord would destroy you for allowing Harry to be tortured like that. _What did you do to him?_"

Lucius swallowed, having seen for himself just how talented that boy was with torture, and having felt it too under the older variant, a prickle of fear chilled his spine.

"Riddle's obliviated. What do you want from me?" he demanded. "You won't kill me - I'm your son!"

He hated how his voice cracked at the last. It was odd to parallel this teenager with his father, and yet the traces were there, and they were unmistakeably related.

He felt the abject dread radiating off his father, to strong an emotion to truly mask from another of their creed, at the mention of the memory charm.

His question was, however, ignored, and he, along with Bella in the arms of someone who looked disturbingly like Severus, but less greasy (and he was guessing the source of the multitude of explosives) were dragged backwards, shielding their capturers from attack.

"I've got a Portkey-hold on!" Potter breathed, masking his torture well, and for that, Lucius felt a reluctant admiration.

The Dark Lord was charging towards them, features lit with rage, only to be distracted by a sudden flood of Light Side members.

He almost gaped - _his son was working with Dumbledore!_ - and they were gone.

* * *

Harry landed on the grounds of Hogwarts with a sickening thud, only thirty seconds later.

They'd dropped Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange at little Hangleton (and Voldemort was sure to investigate his Horcruxes now, wasn't he!) before grabbing the Portkey again quickly while Abraxas assured his son he'd be in contact soon...

He barely had a moment to gather himself, before slender fingers were gripping his face fiercely, examining him.

"Harry - _Salazar _-**are you alright?"** Tom. He felt dazed. "Oh, you brilliant, _brilliant_ man, I knew you'd get it-"

He grabbed at Tom's hands, pulling them away, anger dulling the pain all over his body.

"What the hell were you thinking Tom?" he growled. "Are you okay? - You couldn't have possibly known that would work-"

"What's going on?" Abraxas asked, faintly. "I-I thought you were obliviated Tom - you were-"

The Malfoy Lord trailed off. Harry winced at the thought of what Tom had been doing, and those demanding hands moved to his shoulders, manoeuvring him surprisingly gently into a sitting position.

He felt fingers dancing across his injured ribs, skimming across mottled skin, knowing exactly where to look for the wounds.

Harry flinched at the coldness, still unnerved, everything happening so fast.

Realising Tom wasn't going to bother answering questions or explaining himself, Harry cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Tom has a Munin Band, but Voldemort knows the combination, or at least, we need him to think he does - I'm not sure if it's because he can solve it, or because we need him to think he does, I'm guessing the first one - ouch - _**stop prodding me, Tom! - **_but anyway, I gave him my Munin Band when we were…when were on the floor and he was stopping me from getting in the way of the spell-"

Tom's grip flexed against him, violently, in response to that particular idea.

"And so yeah, Tom wasn't obliviated….but we needed Voldemort to think he was, so we faked it. We needed time to get to the Portkey, and…then you guys came…" he trailed off, looking at them questioningly.

"I summoned them," Tom told him, seizing his jaw again, pulling his attention back, and apparently looking for something in his eyes, before returning his hold too Harry's shoulders. "You didn't answer, are you alright? Stupid question, of course you're not-"

"T-Tom," he gasped, when the other's arm slid under his knees, apparently about to pick him up bloody bridal style or something. "I'm fine! Well, fine enough…and I can walk, and - give me my band."

Everything was jumbling, too many thoughts and too many reactions. His voice was greatly restrained. He was still pissed off.

Tom had no way of knowing that _reckless _plan would work - he could have lost his memory for real!

Tom's eyes cut to him, and he seemed to pick up on Harry's emotions well enough. He held the gaze, his heart pounding. He was able to make a rough estimate to what the other was thinking.

"**Tom," **he repeated, very softly, dangerously.** "Give me my freaking Munin Band. **_**Now."**_

There was a moment of utter tenseness, and then, to his wariness, Tom reached for another band - his own.

"I daresay it makes more sense if we swap, then Voldemort's more likely to get it wrong, and I don't know if my memories tied up in yours…I need to do some tests…you can change the combination."

Harry seized it, hoping his hands weren't shaking too much, changing the combination to override it immediately, before sliding it on his wrist, an immense relief coming over him.

_He was safe. _

Tom was studying him, that gaze missing absolutely nothing, way over even the normal levels of intentness. They were both somewhat manic, it seemed. It was the adrenaline.

Probably.

Zevi made a somewhat awkward sound.

"We'll, er, go and tell people that you're alive…like Granger. She'll be relieved."

Tom didn't reply, and that in itself seemed to have been enough of a dismissal, for Abraxas and Zevi quickly strode up towards the castle, clearly having their own mental struggles to contend with.

A sudden silence fell on them.

"What were you _thinking?"_ he demanded, incredibly uncomfortable with how hoarse his voice had grown.

"I'm pretty sure that's my question," Tom said quietly, though his composure did nothing to hide the vehemence that underlined his tone.

Harry opened his mouth to rant, beyond angry at Tom, and he wasn't even sure why, only for his words to turn into a bitten-back groan as the Slytherin Heir hauled him to his feet.

"I won't bother asking if you're injured, I know you are. So come on."

"I'm not going to the Hospital Wing," Harry snapped, trying to pull back, his muscles taut with tension.

It was a good thing, on hindsight, that Voldemort-Tom had tortured him so extensively, otherwise he was certain he'd be freaking out more at this close proximity.

His stomach knotted.

Tom had cast a Cruciatus at him…an unforgivable…the torture curse…the one you couldn't use unless you _meant _it…but it hadn't been as bad as Voldemort's…almost muted.

Either way he had too many questions.

Damn it all, his head was spinning.

Tom wasn't as injured as he, none of their enemies being allowed to harm him, but at this moment Harry couldn't help but resent that just slightly.

He didn't want to see Tom hurt, ever, but that didn't take away from the fact that it was horrible that he was once more the vulnerable one.

It was unfair - as if some Fate enjoyed seeing him wounded, and Tom acting psychotically overprotective, and Merlin, that was an odd description. He'd never really attributed Tom to even be a protective person. He didn't even know why the thought had entered his head.

"It wasn't a question," Tom replied, somewhat tightly. "I, of all people, know exactly how much pain you are in, so don't even _try _and tell me you are not in _severe _need of healing. We'll talk after."

He couldn't decide which was more ominous: facing Pomfrey in this state, or Talking To Tom. Yes, it required mental capitals.

"My answer wasn't asking permission-" Harry began, mutinously, the stubbornness somehow a compensation for the other scaring the crap out of him with his memory game stunt.

Tom cut him off, favouring him with that shark smile.

"You're injured and about to collapse, _darling_, and I'm responsible for it. Start walking to the Hospital Wing or I will pick you up and _carry _you, and there will be nothing you can do about it as the suddenness upwards motion would probably cause you to faint."

"I'm not a girl, I don't faint! And you're not car-"

"Then. Walk."

Beyond frustrated, Harry glared, but when Tom took a step even closer, he decided that maybe walking was the best option after all…

* * *

Sirius marched down the halls of Hogwarts, portraits having said Harry and Riddle had passed that way not half a minute ago.

They were, it seemed, on their way to the hospital wing, and didn't that just chill his blood. He hoped it was Riddle who was injured, not his godson, but the sinking feeling in his heart told him differently.

He'd been at St Mungos, helping out with his old Auror Training, when Alphard Black had shown up. Then he'd promptly come here, to demand what was happening, and then to the Ministry…and now back here with the knowledge this was where his kid would be.

His kid…when had that happened? It was James' kid, but, but…in a way, Harry felt like his too. He damn well loved the boy like a son, that was for sure.

He froze for a second upon seeing the two, then hurried forwards.

"Harry-"

He had barely reached them when Riddle whipped around, eyes filled with a terrifying fervour.

"Don't touch him, he's got broken ribs, if you hug him you'll probably cause him to puncture a lung."

The words were clipped, deadly.

Harry turned, pain in his gaze, but nowhere else.  
He was hiding it…

"Sirius, thank God you're alright, I was worried-"

"_What do you mean he's got broken ribs?"_ he demanded. What had happened? "Come on, kiddo, let's get you to Pomfrey."

He took another step forward, faltering at the murderous expression on Riddle's face.  
Terror flooded him at that look, which was ridiculous, he had been trained as an Auror and this was a teenager! Still, he barely refrained from taking a step back, and he was supposed to be a Gryffindor.

It screamed possessiveness, something primal, dark and territorial that didn't quite look right on a human face. He swallowed, but held up his hands.

"I won't hurt him," he promised, wondering with horror on when and why he had to _plead _with this Psychopath to get near Harry.

"How would you know, you have no clue as to what his injuries are," Riddle returned coldly.

"Guys…" Harry started, appearing annoyed.

"And you do?" he meant it sarcastically, but the Slytherin Heir's expression hardened to stone.

"Intimately."

He noticed his godson go tense at the words, the flat way they were stated, and was starting to get an awful feeling…

"I trust Sirius," Harry sighed heavily. "He won't hurt me. Now let's either get this hospital stuff over and done with, or let go of me so I can do something useful."

The grip Riddle maintained on Harry's arm tightened fractionally, and the two of them exchanged a look.

He suddenly couldn't help but think, irrationally, that he was intruding or had walked in on them or _something _with the sheer unresolved tension and emotions and issues that hung between them like a dead weight.

Riddle surveyed him, with a warning expression, before outside of Harry's vision Tom's head inclined almost imperceptibly, before he turned.

Feeling bizarrely like he'd passed a really hard NEWT, Sirius stepped forwards.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for all your kind words, they are very much appreciated :) You guys are the best. I've figured out that I average about twenty reviews per chapter. :)

I wanted to get this chapter up quickly for you, hope it's not disappointing.

Next chapter is a "character" chapter, so it should be in my forte and therefore good! Haha.

PS: Read Krysania's "Fate Changed, now What?" story, it's a Fate's Favourite Future AU, and absolutely amazing and deserving of comments if you love this variant of JK's world :) Links on my profile...

PPS: If any of you guys have Tumblr! Follow me :D If you want, of course. The link is on my profile...


	127. Chapter 126

Chapter 126:

Pomfrey wasn't there, apparently she was at St Mungo's trying to aid the wounded - and, instead, there was a young trainee healer.

The woman's eyes widened at the sight of them, and, probably, the fact that the Boy-Who-Lived was in her ward. Harry bit back a sigh of disgust, and was gratified that she did at least make an effort to compose herself.

Her eyes then snapped to Tom and Sirius, before she took a step backwards seemingly for no reason. Harry glanced to his left, noting the rather deadly expression on the Slytherin Heir's face, that was mirrored to some extent upon his Godfather.

"J-just set him on the bed," the healer stated. "My name is Apprentice Freya , what's the problem?"

"The problem appears to be the lack of trained healers in the vicinity," Tom stated coldly. "Go and get one of your superiors."

"But they're all working on the wounded at St Mungo's-" she began. Within a second, Harry was more firmly in Sirius's grip, and Tom's wand had slid under the nurse's chin.

"_Perhaps you didn't hear me?"_ Tom hissed. "Get me one of your superiors, a _trained _Healer, or you can join the wounded yourself and get a more hands-on approach to how hospitals work."

"I-you can't threaten me- I'm almost certified - please - I - I know what I'm doing-"

"Wow, almost certified," Tom said scathingly. "I _almost _feel reassured, except I don't and I wasn't asking you a question, nor threatening you. If you do not get me a professional healer within the next minute you will not live to become certified, you _stupid _bitch."

"Tom-" Harry growled. "**Stop it. **I can wait-"

"Yes, sweetheart, I'm sure your several broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, fractured wrist, three broken fingers, severe bruising and prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus curse…which, fun fact, can cause permanent nerve damage or insanity…_can _wait," Tom replied. "That doesn't mean it _will."_

"There's no other healers available! I'm sorry, but-"

"I'll go get him a healer," Sirius stated, loudly, glaring at the nurse.

Harry found himself being deposited back into Tom's arms, as if he were suddenly incapable of standing without support, while his Godfather flipped his finger to the nurse, flaunting a signet ring.

"Lord Sirius Black. Head of the Black Family - you'll be hearing from my lawyers." Harry almost choked.

They'd both gone insane! The poor woman! Before she could muster a response, Sirius had strode to the floo in Pomfrey's office and disappeared.

Tom's wand slowly lowered, a flash of approval in his gaze, though his features still held a dark edge. A feather light touch directed him towards the bed, where he sat more out of shock that any willingness to take orders.

Trainee Freya looked about to cry.

"Sorry about this," Harry muttered, feeling awkward. "I'll get Sirius to drop charges - they're both just being bloody overprotective-"

"-If you don't like it," Tom smiled at him, dangerously, "then learn to take some more care of your own health, though I can't promise to stop even then."

Harry gaped, a hot fury clenching in his stomach (his fists were a bit on the damaged side.) He took a deep, calming breath.

"**If you're overcompensating because this was actually **_**your**_** crappy plan, then stop, I don't hold it against you-"**

"**Overcompensating?" **Tom snatched on the word, his voice flat. "**Why would I be overcompensating? That so would suggest I had something to feel guilty for."**

Harry's heart plummeted. Right.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "the great Tom Riddle would never feel something so human, because he never makes mistakes, does he? He's just too perfect. It's all just…part of the plan."

He looked away, over at the Trainee Healer, who was staring at them in what seemed to be a mixture of fascination and fear. Salazar, he ached all over, and he couldn't stop shaking

. Before, he thought it was relief, now, he suspected it might be the crucio remnants. He could feel Tom's eyes boring into the side of his face.

"Take a picture, it lasts longer," he advised her, irritably, perhaps indirectly aiming the words at Tom too. She flushed, snapping her gaze away, mumbling something about getting him a pain relief. As she left for the office, he suddenly wished she would stay. Tom was still appraising him.

It was getting repetitive.

"Harry."

"You can go if you want," he said, ignoring the possibility that the other was about to speak. "Sirius will be back soon, and I'm sure you've got better things to do be doing with your time."

"_Don't_," the Slytherin Heir said sharply.

Harry glanced over, doing his hardest to make sure he was completely expressionless, maybe even casual and careless. The other leaned forwards, resting a hand on his non-dislocated shoulder.

"I am a _psychopath_, sometimes I think you understand and accept that, other times…I can't-"

"Feel empathy, yes, I know," Harry snapped. "Believe me, I've got that message by now-"

"-As for **torturing **you," Tom continued, louder, and Harry barely suppressed a flinch, "I don't regret that either, before you ask. I'm sadistic - **I **_**enjoy**_** causing people pain! **I'm mentally and chemically wired to do so, and I gain no sense of shame from doing it because _I do not have a conscience." _

Harry's blood was pounding through his veins, and he averted his gaze, only for pale fingers to seize his jaw and force his attention.

"Do I like…this…" Tom's eyes flicked over his abused body. "No. I do not like that it's _you_, for whatever inexplicable reason, but I also find it preferable to you being dead."

"It bothers you to cause me pain?" Harry questioned sceptically, somehow not quite believing that.

"Don't be ridiculous," Tom scoffed. "It bothers me when I don't have a choice in it."

An incredulous laugh startled out of Harry's mouth.

"I'm starting to think people are right when they say you're no good for me."

"Of course I'm no good for you," Tom smirked. "Don't tell me that's not part of the appeal?"

A mixture of awkwardness, uneasiness and something else joined his already tumbling emotional state, but he couldn't look away.

"More seriously though," Tom's voice grew softer, the hand slipping to lie on the back of his neck instead in an oddly reassuring manner. "If I could feel guilty, than yes, I'd feel guilty right now…you didn't deserve today, and believe _me _when I say I would never act like I did earlier if I thought there had been another option…so…sorry, I suppose…whatever that means when I…apologise for the inconvenience but wouldn't actually change my action."

"Bullshitting in hopes of forgiveness," Harry replied promptly, and Tom's lips twisted into a small smile, but before he could say anything, an odd squeak came from the direction of the office.

Tom's hand dropped, grabbing his forearms firmly, making him nearly whimper with the sudden movement of his arm, the jolt as he was preventing from physically spinning around like he tried to.

"Careful," Tom hissed, chidingly, voice too low for someone else to hear. "Do you want to stab yourself in the lung with your ribcage?"

"God - I'm so sorry," Freya stammered. "I didn't know you two were-"

Harry's eyes flicked down automatically to Tom's lingering grip, at their closeness, and the way they were leaning in, before groaning at the erroneous conclusion.

"For the love of…we're _not _a couple!"

* * *

Hermione hurried into the Hospital Wing within minutes when Zevi and Abraxas found her.

Zevi was…tolerable. Abraxas was a narcissistic bigot.

Harry was white as sheet, the only indication that he might be in pain, which, according to Abraxas, he would be. Her heart jumped into her mouth.

A grumpy, stressed, nauseas looking Healer was leaning over him, handing him potions and casting spells in quick succession.

"Harry!" She rushed forwards, releasing Ron's hand from the death-grip she had on it. "Oh my goodness, are you alright? You went to find Voldemort - how could you be so _stupid_ - what happened?"

The Healer started just a tiny bit, and she guessed no one had revealed the circumstances to him either…or the circumstances he'd been given were distinctly different from the truth.

"You're still here?" Ron blurted out, staring at Riddle. "Don't you normally sod off when he's in the Hospital Wing?"

She'd noticed that too. Tom raised an eyebrow back at them. Harry tensed marginally, seeming to wince at the movement.

"I'm overcompensating," Riddle deadpanned, and Harry's lip curled in a faint smirk, though she couldn't see what was funny about the statement. "That, and I haven't had the opportunity to scream at boy wonder, yet."

The smirk vanished abruptly, and Harry's head whipped around.

"You're not still pissed off with me!"

"I am, actually," Riddle said, in that pleasant tone of voice that was terrifying for it's dangerous affability.

"What for?"

"Being a reckless, self-sacrificing Gryffindor."

"You don't think being tortured covered your right to scream at me?"

"No," Tom stated. "Being tortured covered my right to knock the stupid out of your head. I can still, however, continue that noble crusade verbally."

Hermione would have laughed at the two of them, but there was something more serious under Tom's mildly amusing words, something darker that made her shiver.

The Healer was starting to look less grumpy, and more unnerved. Harry's jaw clenched.

"You do realise I never actually agreed to that aspect of the plan? And so, didn't do anything wrong…"

Tom made a disagreeing noise, but didn't seem to think that worthy of a response.

"Okay," the healer said (her name badge said Gaia.) "I'm just going to give you a little sedative so you can sleep off the effects over night…you've been through a traumatic experience."

Before anyone could blink, Harry had backed off, halfway through the door, before Tom had moved just as swiftly, grabbing hold of him and shoving him back towards the nurse.

Sirius looked a bit shocked. She didn't blame him.

She saw Tom Riddle around Harry Potter everyday, but that didn't mean she was used to them, so it must have felt been utterly unsettling and bewildering to him!

"No…sedatives," Harry said. "I much prefer being able to wake up if I need to."

The Healer frowned.

"I understand you might be feeling a bit jumpy, but a good night's sleep really does work wonders, and it'll help you rest…no one will attack you here at Hogwarts."

The woman offered the potion again, but Harry made no move to take it. Tom was studying him closely.

"Harry," she began, tentatively, worried. "You really do like you need some sleep."

"I'll get some sleep on my own accord," Harry stated stubbornly.

"No you won't, mate," Ron scowled. "You've had nightmares for years."

Gaia looked even more concerned, some more of the grumpiness fading away, but none of the stress.

"You have nightmares regularly? For years? Consistently? Have you considered seeing a mind-"

"I don't need a bloody therapist," Harry's eyes darkened, frighteningly, to the point she barely recognised him, his gaze cut into Ron, who had the grace to look sheepish about his revealing of personal information.

"Mr Potter-"

"I'll make sure he gets some sleep, don't worry," Tom stated, causing Harry's head to snap around to him once more.

"I'm not a _child_, you can't tell-"

"-me what to do?" Riddle finished, looking bored, but with a menacing hint. "I gathered that from your continued inability to take a single order I give you, notably, don't _stick around to play heroics." _

"This coming from the guy who had a sodding portkey in his pocket the whole time?" Harry questioned furiously, eyes narrowed. "The guy with the supposedly impeccable self-preservation skills? You're plan was no more reckless than any of mine-"

"Except my plans don't end up with you dead," Riddle returned coolly, and for a moment Hermione wondered if they were even aware that they still had an audience, or if they'd got so wrapped up in whatever they were fighting and struggling over at this time that the rest of the world had simply fallen away.

She had a feeling the conversation had got bigger than just what had happened tonight, but she wasn't sure how.

"From personal experience, being dead is probably better than crucio."

There was a bite somewhere in that statement, a cruel jab, and that in itself was somewhat unusual as Tom and Harry were always cautious to keep everything private just that - private.

They had to be quite…emotional to be bickering so openly. Riddle's eyes flashed, before he smiled.

"It's probably a very good thing that I don't care for your personal experience or opinion on the matter, then.

""Well, thank you," the healer said, loudly, as if hoping to break it up, before she hurried back towards the floo. "I'll send your Madame Pomfrey back right away…I hope you feel better soon Mr Potter…take it easy."

Then she was gone. The trainee healer looked like she wished dearly to follow.

The two continued as if there had been no interruption.

"You're unbelievable. You can't _make_ me take the sedative, it's none of your business, besides!"

"Of course I can make you," Riddle replied. "You're exhausted, tortured, still in pain because you also refused pain medication or anything that could 'drug' you, and thus, weak as a kitten."

"I am not _weak." _That seemed to be a stinging insult in whatever dimension they existed on, and she could imagine that from Tom it would be practically withering.

"You are currently, and so is your pathetic sentiment."

She expected a quick witted response, but, instead, there was an abrupt, deafening silence. She swallowed.

Riddle seemed to go still.

"Well, if you feel that way," Harry said finally, no inflection to his voice.

She exchanged a glance with Sirius, who seemed, like she, to suddenly feel absolutely mortified to be witnessing this. It was too intense, too tangled and messy…

* * *

"I'd get rid of the life connection while we're at it…" Harry said, carefully controlled, cavalier. "You wouldn't want the liability either-"

"-Harry-"

"-No." His voice was cold, and he slipped into parseltongue. "**You **_**tortured**_** me not one hour ago. In front of Voldemort, and way too many other definitions. I suppose that's not too big a deal to you, because they're probably just amazed at your mad skill, but for me it's freaking **_**humiliating. **_**I'm not going to ask you to put yourself in my shoes, because we both know you're incapable of summoning the freaking humanity, but do **_**not **_**presume**-"

"**Humiliating? I'm a **_**psychopath, **_**hero. **_**I'm the Dark Lord. **_**I do not DO feelings, this whole - thing! - is humiliating to me." **

And then they both clamped their jaws shut, having said too much.

Harry's mouth felt dry. They were normally so…guarded in a way, and now it was spilling out, acidic like vomit or something equally unfit for company.

"**Being friends with me is humiliating?" **he asked, not recognising his own voice.

"**Yes-no-forget I said anything,"** Tom snapped.

Harry's stomach was churning. He felt sick.

"I see."

He felt…hollow.

"Get out." It took him a moment to realise the other had directed the words at his friends and Godfather, and the nurse, all of whom seemed more than glad for the dismissal, the excuse to leave.

Everyone always left…

The silence continued, and Tom studied the flask of sleeping draught, twirling it in his fingers, appearing as if he'd prefer his wand.

"I…you're fully aware of my opinion on _attachments, _friendship…sentiment. I don't…caring is not an advantage, I see that every day of my life, caring is nothing but a distraction, a weakness…a liability I can't afford."

For every word, it seemed a knife was being sunk under his skin, icy.

Yet, Tom sounded so…lost, so uncertain, in a manner Harry hadn't heard before.

The suspicious part of him wondered if this was all an act. He didn't know. He just…didn't know.

Tom's eyes darted up to his for a moment, before away again. For once, it felt strange that he was the one staring, while Tom avoided eye contact.

"I've never…had friends before. You must know that too. I…" Tom swore under his breath. "The point is, you're the only…friend, I have…or whatever _this _is, cause in all honesty, I don't actually know…and _Salazar,_ how do you people stand it? There are so many _emotions_ and…"

Harry felt realisation begin to creep over him. It was like what Hermione had said, what felt so long ago. Tom was actually…admitting….

"You're not used to caring, or feeling at any rate. You view it as a weakness," he murmured.

Tom viewed himself as growing weakness, in having emotions, emotions he probably wasn't used to dealing with, and Voldemort largely confirmed it every time they met with their comments.

He supposed he'd never imagined Tom to be someone who doubted his own power and strength, because Merlin knew Harry never had doubted Tom…

"I hate you, Evans."

Harry bit his lip, casting his gaze fixed on the sleeping draught.

"If it makes you feel any better…I don't really know what I'm doing either…and you don't…come across as…weak."

Tom's eyes cut into him, and he met the gaze hesitantly, slightly scared of what he wound find there amidst the shadows. Then, after the briefest moment, the shutters went sliding up, all uncertainty vanished. "

Are you going to take the potion, or do I have to force it down your throat?"

* * *

A/N: So, this chapter kind of ran away with me, and I'm really quite nervous about it, because I never planned this conversation, it just kind of...happened. Hope it's not too OOC.

Thank you for all the reviews - almost 3000 now :O I never thought I'd be so popular, especially not for my first HP fic. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!

I feel my confidence in my writing has improved a lot with your help :)


	128. Chapter 127

Chapter 127:

Tom studied the sleeping boy before him, for a moment, his features carefully expressionless.

He prided himself on his self-awareness, and general awareness, and so the revelations of the night came as no shock to him…not really.

He'd known for a while that sometimes he was…not as well equipped to deal with the emotional onslaught being around Harry created as some others might be, and that there were small, miniscule shifts to his character when the other was in his company, but this was the first time he had admitted it explicitly aloud. It was…daunting.

He'd made reference to it, of course, like when he'd told Harry he was only 'Tom Riddle' around him etc, but he'd always on some level been able to tell that Harry didn't understand the full vulnerability of that statement. Now though...

For a moment, he considered sorting through the protective charms Harry had no doubt placed on his Munin Band and ripping the thing off, so he could obliviate his friend, but in the end decided against it. He'd see how things played out before he acted too rashly - impulsive reactions were what damned Voldemort to thirteen years without a body, after all.

Besides, Harry was tricky like that, he never quite responded exactly like Tom thought he would…or, at least, he thoroughly surprised him every so often, so it was only best to be cautious in case this was one of those times. Still.

It was undeniable that Harry was different to him than any other person - an exception his every rule. It was a weakness, a liability that he both struggled to tolerate and accepted with a shocking ease. He didn't understand it.

Voldemort would no doubt rationalise his abundant urge to protect the younger to be due to the Horcrux, self-preservation, his soul recognising its missing fraction…and yet… Harry had always been a Horcrux, and his emotions regarding Harry hadn't always been the same, nor did Voldemort show any inclination of the same _sentiment._ The Horcrux, he was sure, had its part to play, but it was too simplistic to attribute this influx of…caring to it alone.

Did he care? He found the very idea of it to be disgusting and weak, but he supposed he did.

To care: 1) to be interested in or concerned about something. 2) To feel affection or love and concern for somebody. 3) To look after somebody or something.

The lexical evidence certainly suggested he was infected by caring; Harry was very interesting to him, he did hold a certain level of affection for the other, as otherwise he wouldn't be having these emotional responses and he looked out for Harry, although the reasons for that were tied to self interest.

So…he did care, although he highly doubted it was in the fluffy way some assumed. He was _dark_, and so tended to be his emotions. His care wasn't light and gentle, it was fierce, violent and possessive. He had no such scruples about denying that.

The idea of caring though…it was a liability, he'd said that already.

Caring about Harry gave Harry the opportunity to hurt him where others couldn't, and that was a dangerous position to have anyone in, nor a dilemma he had experienced before.

He was Tom Riddle, no one got closer to him than he allowed…except Harry. He didn't allow the boy in, he shoved his way past defences anyway, regardless of Tom's opinion on the matter! It was maddening. The logical thing, the reasonable thing to do, would be to expose of the threat…but he wouldn't.

That was the nature of this problem, of this caring: it prevented him from willingly taking efficient actions that he would normally have used.

He didn't _want _Harry gone, and so the threat grew. Hell, he drew the boy closer, where he should have been pushing him away.

His only consolation was the knowledge that whatever emotions he had, were probably mutual. Harry was different with him as well in turn. The closer Harry got to him, the closer he got to Harry, and so if events ever did go awry, he had the same poison of care and weapons of intimacy at his disposal.

Nonetheless, it was unnerving.

How did common people deal with so many emotions? It was sickening. He hated this lack of control - because, it was always around Harry, or regarding him, that his self-control slipped.

Harry was lucky that he'd always managed to reign control in so fast, stopping at dislocated fingers or punched faces or confessions too unguarded for comfort.

He never showed anyone to full force of his genuine personality, there were always masks, deceptions or dilutions involved, because he knew no one could survive the full brunt of his character.

Except Harry.

Except, he used that word a lot with Harry, didn't he? His only exception.

Harry hadn't fled, though Tom had given him the unprecedented opportunity to. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. He sighed, heavily.

Pathetically, he almost felt he should keep vigil over the boy, but that was both ridiculous and time consuming. Harry wasn't even awake! And he wouldn't be waking any time soon, just, probably, having nightmares he couldn't escape.

He shook his head to clear it, taking a step to the door of the Hospital Wing, before, inexplicably, hesitating.

How restful could sleep with nightmares be? He knew that was why Harry had fought against taking the sleeping draught in the first place- he didn't want to be trapped with his demons.

Besides, this reasoning was redundant: he knew he wouldn't stay, he never did, and this time would be no different because he had a busy schedule and errand to take care of. He had noted Granger and Ginger's surprise that he hadn't already left earlier though, and, more importantly, he'd noted Harry's.

What did it matter if Harry had nightmares? He never slept well, and he definitely wouldn't tonight, after torture. His torture. His jaw clenched. He considered for a moment, before coming to a decision, pulling the white mask out of his pocket.

Salazar.

Caring was bloody inconvenient.

Then he left.

* * *

Harry wandered around the castle in search of Luna, having been discharged from the Hospital Wing some half an hour earlier.

Tom had been gone when he woke up again - and, to be honest, Harry wasn't surprised at that, especially after the conversation they'd had. He'd fully expected Tom to withdraw completely, grow cold, as if to wipe the confession from ever happening.

What he definitely hadn't expected was Tom to deliberately leave a sign of acknowledgement.

Tom had left him one of the White Death Eater masks, which, in itself, was taunting, but then it had been modified. It made him smile, because he knew it was the Slytherin Heir's response to his comment about the thing when they were at the Ministry, on how he should change the design.

The bottom half was gone completely, making it more elegant and less skull like, leaving the eyes and the top half of the face covered, and instead of being pure white, half of it was black. The eye holes, he noted, matched the size and shape of his own.

It looked more like something you'd wear to a masquerade ball now, but then, he supposed that was Tom's somewhat mocking reply - that his arguing over aesthetics in the middle of a battle didn't fit war, much like the mask itself didn't fit a battlefield.

He still preferred this version though; not that he'd wear it, on principle. He'd shrunk and pocketed it.

The real point of the gesture wasn't even the mask, it was the fact that Tom was specifically alluding to remembrance or caring about his opinion.

Or maybe he was just looking into too much. Whatever.

It was Tom though, and so it was stupid to not read into it, as everything Tom did had to be read into as that was normally where everything important was kept, under initial surfaces.

He found the blonde Ravenclaw by the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He knew he probably should have gone to find Ron and Hermione first, but they'd ask him about the Prophecy and everything, he knew, and he didn't want to talk about it.

It wasn't cowardice…it was having different priorities.

Besides, he could ask Luna about the resurrection stone, and, he just generally enjoyed the girl's company. Sure, she said some odd things and believed in strange concepts, but she was also smart.

She could have been as smart as Tom, he suspected, but in a different field. She seemed to see things other people didn't, just like Tom.

Not that she was simply the female, less psychotic replacement he was using instead of talking to Tom, even if, on hindsight of his thoughts, it might sound like that. He sighed.

"Hello, Harry Potter, how are you?" she asked, as he approached. "I hope you're feeling better."

He frowned at the sight of her. She had no shoes on, and only a thin cardigan on top of her dress. It was Saturday morning, and so she wasn't wearing her school robes.

"Luna…your feet, aren't they cold?" he questioned. She smiled gently.

"No, not really. I'm used to it."

"Your shoes-?"

"Have been mysteriously replaced."

His eyes flashed dangerously.

"Mysteriously replaced? Someone took them? Who?"

"It's all a bit fun," she shook her head, dismissively. He took two advanced steps forward, taking hold of her shoulders.

If this was what he thought it was…he knew people called her Looney, but for whatever reason, self-absorption perhaps, he hadn't made the connection. Merlin.

"Luna, the others…are they?" he swallowed, not sure how to phrase it. She stared at him with her wide blue eyes. "They shouldn't be allowed to take your stuff. Tell me who did it, and I'll get it back and make sure it doesn't happen again," he said.

She smiled again.

"That's kind of you, but it's okay. I've always found that the things we lose have a habit of returning to us."

"Luna-" he tried again, helplessly. It was so infuriating when people wouldn't accept help when they needed it!

"Did you want to talk to me about something?" she asked, mildly, but it cut over him, and her gaze had become a fraction more piercing. He let his hands drop, not sure what he could do, and hating it.

He'd think of something. Luna was too nice for people to treat her wrongly. She didn't deserve it. He tugged off his cloak, offering it to her, and after a moment, she took it.

"Thank you," she replied, almost too quietly to hear.

"Anytime," he murmured. They stood in silence for a moment.

"You never answered," she mused, finally, not shying from his gaze. He seemed to have picked up the habit of openly studying people from Tom. Most people grew uncomfortable with it. He blinked. "How are you?" she clarified, lightly.

"I'm fine," he replied. "You know me. Always am."

"Hmmm," she said. "And how's Tom?"

"He's fine too," he replied, if a little awkwardly. Her head tilted.

"I have those umbrella's if you still want them," she offered. He felt a grin tug at his lips.

"Thanks, Luna, but I think we're okay."

"Then why are you here talking to me?" she asked. "Instead of him."

"Am I not allowed other friends outside of Tom?"

"Are we friends?" she asked. "That's nice. I've never had a friend before." His heart drew cold at that, the casual statement, the echo of the last conversation he had with Tom, and that it was the same for her. "And I don't think he really wants you to have other friends outside of him."

"Well, he doesn't get a say in the matter," Harry replied, wondering if he should have been more disturbed by the statement. Probably. It was Tom though.

Not that Luna was necessarily right - she thought he and Tom were in _love _with each other after all, which was just ludicrous. There was another silence, but it was companionable

."What are you doing out here, anyway?" he asked curiously. Her smile shined even brighter.

"I was feeding the Thestrals. They're really cute!"

Cute? Thestrals? Really? He smiled back, with some amusement.

"What about you? Are you looking for Tvuna plants?"

"Tvuna-?" he began, before shaking his head. Never mind.

"Actually, I was looking for you," he said.

He felt bad suddenly - he didn't want her to think that he was just using her for what she could tell him. She looked at him, expectantly.

"I was wondering if you could tell me anything more about the resurrection stone…I've looked around for it, but I can't find anything about it in any of the magical object section of the library," he stated. "It's fine if you can't," he added hastily.

"Sure," she said. "It's one of the Deathly Hallows.

" "The Deathly Hallows?" he wasn't sure if he'd heard right.

"Yes," she replied. "The story goes that three brothers met Death on a bridge, and, having magic, they managed to escape him. Devious Death offered them a reward - a Deathly Hallow for each of the brothers. The first brother asked for a wand so powerful that it could never be beaten, and so Death fashioned him one out of a nearby elder tree. That became the elder wand."

She drew a line in the dirt with a flick of her wand.

"The second brother, taunting Death further, asked for a stone to resurrect the dead."

She drew a circle that touched either end of the line.

"The resurrection stone," Harry murmured.

"Yes," Luna agreed. "And then, the third brother, the youngest, asked for something that would allow him to go henceforth from that place without being followed by Death, so Death, unwillingly, gave him his own cloak of invisibility."

Luna drew a triangle to encompass both circle and line.

"The Deathly Hallows," she stated. "The first died drunk on power, avenging an old enemy in a bar and boasting of his power. The second, died of love, calling on the ghost of his love, and withering because she was just a shadow and faded. He hung himself to join her."

Harry felt sick.

"The third," Luna looked up at him. "Lived a long life, before greeting Death as an old friend."

Harry stared down at the mark on the ground before him. It looked similar, somehow, he'd seen it before.

"They say that the person who possesses all three Hallows becomes Master of Death."

"Master of Death…what does that mean?" he asked.

Luna shrugged delicately, still appraising him. Harry chewed his lip.

"Luna…if these hallows are so powerful, how come more people don't go looking for them?"

"Some do," Luna said softly. "And some find them. The elder wand has a bloody history, as the old owner must be defeated for the wand to pass into new ownership…but most people believe it to just be a fairytale."

That made more sense, especially as these Hallows sounded like the holy grail of the magical world. Another thought occurred to him.

"But the resurrection stone has been - it's one of Tom's family heirlooms - its been in his family for _years_…"

"Three brothers…" Luna murmured. "The brothers Perevell."

Harry's heart stopped.

"Perevell?" he repeated, dumbly. "As in, but I'm, I-"

He and Tom were _both _Perevell heirs. He had an invisibility cloak.

Salazar. His mouth felt dry. Did that mean-?

Luna's eyes glittered like her irises were made from sapphires, catching the sun.

"Do you think Tom's after all the Deathly Hallows, or just the Resurrection stone?" he asked.

Harry couldn't see the young Dark Lord turning down a wand of extreme power, or a cloak that hid him from death. Perhaps selfishly, Harry was more glad than ever that he'd never told Tom about his father's invisibility cloak.

Luna swiped earth across the symbol. The one he'd seen before…but where?

"Tom Riddle mustn't become the Master of Death," the blonde said softly. "Nothing could stop him from anything, if he did. Not even you."

* * *

Neville walked distractedly up from the Herbology Greenhouses - he'd been helping Professor Sprout with some of her Mimbletus Mimbletonia for extra credit.

He had one himself, so he knew what to do with it, and it was really quite fascinating how they'd developed different defence mechanisms for the different attacks they could come under, and that a plant would be so almost sentient.

Most people just assumed they didn't have feelings, because they were just there, but you could tell a lot from a plant. He balanced his notepads carefully in his hands, heading towards the Common Room to meet Ron and Hermione. That had been…strange.

At first, he'd felt horribly guilty, as if he was trying to take Harry's place…but…well, he liked being friends with them.

He liked Harry, but Harry wasn't coming back to Gryffindor tower anytime soon, that was perfectly evident. He'd seen his ex dorm mate with Riddle, and they just…jazzed.

They worked well together, and though some of the rumours about the two of them made him cringe (he didn't want to know that much detail, fantasised or not, about anyone's private life!) they seemed happy.

Ron and Hermione, on the other hand, had been crumpling while their friend flourished. It had been clear to everyone in the tower that they'd struggled to find their balance without Harry as a buffer, as two people instead of the steadfast, once thought inseparable, Golden Trio.

He thought they had it quite well worked out now, though it wasn't perfect. But, what in life was perfect?

So lost in his thoughts was he, that he very nearly walked into one of the many people spinning in his contemplation. Harry. He came to an abrupt halt, to avoid skidding into the other, only for it to have no effect as Harry promptly walked into him, apparently similarly lost in thoughts.

"Oh-sorry!-Neville?"

The stared at each other cautiously for a moment, as if searching for offence, before relaxing.

"Hey Harry, knut for your thoughts?" he asked.

Harry grinned, sheepishly.

"Not worth that much, I'd be robbing you, mate," he replied.

Neville was silent for a moment, not quite sure what to say. He hadn't ever talked to the Boy Who Lived _that _much, and even less now.

Though he knew Harry and Riddle got on like a house on fire, he still worried that the other was annoyed that he was stealing his best friends or something - and Harry could be _terrifying _when he was annoyed or a person somehow got on his wrong side.

Neville didn't want to go there.

"Gringotts," he blurted out, finally, when he could no longer stand the weight of the rather intense scrutiny he was under.

He suspected Harry had picked it up from his Slytherin friends - Riddle, not the purebloods, as they had more decorum and wouldn't be seen dead breaking societal expectations regarding looking at someone so closely for such an extended period of time.

Harry's brow furrowed

."Excuse me?" That was the purebloods. Before, Harry would have said 'What?' or 'Huh?'

"Gringotts," he repeated, quieter, shuffling his feet. "You asked yesterday about safe places to keep things, magical places of notes. Well, Gringotts."

Obviously.

Harry's expression seemed to freeze, his thoughts dancing too fast to be deciphered behind his eyes.

"I…thanks Neville," he said, sincerely. Neville felt a hand clap his shoulder in gratitude, and smiled back, a bit uncomfortably. "Really. Thanks. That's…Gringotts. Of course. Why didn't I think of that?"

Harry seemed to largely be muttering to himself now, and somewhere in it, Neville had the strange sense he'd been dismissed. Harry probably wouldn't call it that, and would never purposely dismiss someone, but it was the sense he got.

The next second, the other snapped out of it, giving him a slightly apologetic look.

"I'd love to talk, but I got to run…library. Stuff to do. Another time, yeah?"

"Bye Harry," he said, somewhat bemused as the other took off at a sprint.

He adjusted his bags and continued up towards the common room.

* * *

Alecto Carrow looked up sharply as the door to her office creaked open. She'd been penning a letter to her brother, Amycus, and now laid down her quill and taking hold of her wand instead.

"Who's there?" she called. If it was some stupid child looking for help on their Defence against the Dark Arts homework…she lifted her wand higher at the lack of response, wondering somewhere in her mind if she was simply being paranoid.

The next second, a blinding pain shot through her left arm, and her wand promptly clattered to the floor as she barely refrained from verbalising her agony.

Cold fear swept over her as she curled over her burning appendage. Was she being summoned? Had she done something wrong. She sank to her knees, almost sighing in relief as the pain dulled, before muting almost entirely.

The fear didn't leave her, nor did the sudden magic in the room. Dark, intoxicating, _powerful _magic that caressed her skin like the edge of a knife.

Measured footsteps approached her, calm, soft.

"Hello Professor," a velvety voice drawled. She looked up, before frowning, and the terror in her stomach plummeted to new pits of dread.

"M-Mr Riddle," she greeted, coughing, trying to bolster her tone. "What is the meaning of this?"

She knew he was important to the Dark Lord, in his…favour or something, as she'd been ordered to show him lenience (not that she found trouble with that, he was clearly brilliant unlike some other dimwits, albeit being a half blood.)

A cold, cruel smile swept across his lips.

"By that address, I assume you do not know who I _truly _am. Tut tut, and they let you teach Defence? But, then, I suppose it was always ironic that a Death Eater should teach that subject…"

"I don't know what you mean-" she began, automatically. Her left arm throbbed wildly, and she suddenly had a horrible feeling. He was a time traveller, wasn't he? And her mark…

"Now now," he murmured, "let's not waste time I'm on denial or evasion. You're not Harry, and so your inability to surrender to uncomfortable truths are in no way endearing."

She swallowed.

"W-who are you, really?" she whispered.

The Dark magic teased her, and he crouched before her, that charming smile still upon his face.

"Let me give you a clue," he replied softly.

Blinding pain ran down her left arm again, and she screamed, praying someone would hear, but knowing they wouldn't due to her own care in warding her quarters.

"My lord…?" She didn't understand. She'd seen him with the Dark Lord, they couldn't possibly…the Dark Lord couldn't possibly be two people at once…and…

"Harry would have got it by now," he sighed, shaking his head, before rising and circling her prostrate form. "But, for the sake of my limited time, I shall save you the agony of having to think too hard…I am the Dark Lord when he was still young, when he was still but a student."

The horrible feeling in her heart encompassed her, enough to almost make her faint. No. No. This was…

"I-what do you require of me?" she asked, trying not to whimper. "My lord."

He gave a somewhat pleased sounding hum, but it was dangerous too, utterly so.

"Well, it's simple really, I rumour has it you've been reporting on my activities to my older variant-"

"-I'll stop!" she promised, her breath catching, her voice barely a shriek. "I didn't-"

_Pain. _

It felt like it lasted forever, focussed again on her left arm, and in the coherent corners of her mind she knew it was so anything that happened could never be traced conclusively back to him.

Brilliant. She hated it. The helplessness

. Blood trickled out of her mouth as she nearly bit through her tongue, copper flooding her taste buds.

When it was done, she lay on the floor, panting, her face slick with tears.

"Do not interrupt me again, _Carrow_," he said quietly.

She heaved a shuddering breath, silent, wishing the ground would swallow her whole.

"I want you to take a message to Voldemort, for me," he continued, as if the interruption had never happened. "A special message, will you do that for me?"

"Anything," she agreed, fervently.

This was the worst situation ever - at least with the elder she expected it, and could brace herself for his presence. In a way, he was more frightening than the Dark Lord, for he was tagging questions onto what were clearly orders, taunting and deriding her vulnerability and servitude further.

"What do you want me to tell him, my lord?"

"Tell him?" Riddle's smile widened, dazzling, but there was ice and malevolence and absolutely no conscience in his eyes. "Tell him this is war."

Then his wand slashed, quicker than lightning, and blood poured out of her stomach, slices.

"Hurry along now, professor. You'll be dead and useless within five minutes."

She staggered to her feet, clutching the wound, shocked, numb, unable to comprehend. It was so sudden.

She glanced down.

Words. He'd _cut _words into her skin.

_HE'S MINE. _

She glanced up at him, terrified, to find he'd wandered over to her desk, and turned only to raise his eyebrow at her, raising a glass of wine that he'd poured for himself as if in toast.

Vision hazy, she fled to the Dark Lord.

* * *

Harry dropped into his customary seat next to Tom in the Common Room, late that evening. At dinner, the whole hall was subdued, quiet with the horrors of what had been called the 'St Mungo's Massacre.'

He'd seen the papers, the pictures made him sick.

The fact that the Ministry had rather obviously been attacked simultaneously only exacerbated the fear. It reminded him of being in the past, when Grindewald's sign was splattered on the prophet every other day…oh. Stupid.

_Grindewald's sign._

It was the mark Luna had drawn - the Deathly Hallows symbol.

He went rigid. Grindewald had been after the Deathly Hallows? But then, surely, Dumbledore must know something about them too?

"What?" Tom asked, having obviously caught the change in his posture. He shook his head.

"It's…nothing," he murmured.

The Slytherin Heir's head tilted, clearly not buying that, but he didn't comment. Harry's thoughts were racing.

Dumbledore must have known something about Grindewald, he remembered, back in the past, there was all this talk about how Grindewald didn't dare attack Britain because of Dumbledore.

So Dumbledore must have known something, there must be some form of connection there, somehow.

A Dark Lord didn't forestall world domination on rumour and hearsay alone….would they? He didn't know.

Then there was Gringotts. He needed to find a way to break into the Lestrange vault, and for that, he needed a Lestrange.

His eyes drifted to the far corner of the Slytherin Common room, fixing on the slumped, dejected figure.

He should have felt more sorry for the twit, but he couldn't - the bastard had tried to kill him! Sure, he didn't like the thought that Cygnus been tortured for it, but he had no objection to this banishment, at least not while his thirst for vengeance remained unquenched.

"Now I really am curious," Tom remarked, and he flicked his gaze back again, not at all surprised that Tom hadn't yet returned to his dodgy looking book and notepad

. Speaking of, he needed to burn that notepad, taking the educated guess that Tom was working on a time spell. He only hoped Hermione and he got there first, before the other.

"What about?" he asked, though he had his suspicions.

Tom was in the armchair across from him - the one he lounged in like it was his throne when it wasn't the middle of the night and only Harry was around to witness him stealing a sofa for himself. He often wondered why Tom didn't take the sofa otherwise, it wouldn't be that he couldn't get away with it.

Maybe he didn't like the thought of touching those he considered inferior? He'd alluded to such distaste of personal contact before…

"Your latest plan for sabotage," Tom replied. He could feel the rest of the Slytherins begin paying rather more obvious attention at the blunt statement. "Presumably involving Lestrange?"

"You're fishing."

"You keep looking at him."

"He's a good-looking guy," Harry said mildly, with a slight smirk.

Tom's eyebrows arched. Alphard spluttered, seemingly choking on air, but was ignored.

"So's Tom," Abraxas said, apparently hoping to sound clever. "And therefore that defence against sabotage is invalid."

Harry made a show of studying Tom in a comparative way, before glancing over at Lestrange again.

"Lestrange is more my type, more, er, manly."

Tom leaned forward, book almost discarded now, considering him with an unreadable expression.

"Why?" Harry asked, to break the silence more than anything else. "Are you jealous?"

Zevi dragged in a sharp breath.

"Incredibly," the Slytherin Heir replied.

Harry's smirk faltered before he could catch it under the dangerous, somewhat possessive way Tom was surveying him.

He wasn't completely sure if Tom was joking or not, it was hard to tell with how good Tom's acting skills were.

"Why?" the other returned, head tilting. "Are you trying to make me jealous?"

"I-" Harry suddenly felt very wrong footed. Out of his depth.

"Because considering I'm a psychopath who knows where you sleep, that's probably not a good idea."

They stared at each other for a minute, and Harry could practically feel the tension building.

"Do you know if there's any back story between Dumbledore and Grindewald?" he asked abruptly.

Tom smirked.

* * *

_A/N: Have you SEEN the size of this chapter? :O It's shocking. What happened?  
I hope you guys appreciate it. _

_Thank you so very much for all the reviews in the last chapter. I felt really loved :) _

_I had something I meant to say here, but I've forgotten what it is...I'll get back to you! _

_PS: Up to Chapter 5 of my novel is posted on Writer's Network, link on my profile, if you're interested ;) Tell me what you think (a million forms of gratitude for those who already have)_

_Until next time..._


	129. Chapter 128

Chapter 128:

The Great Hall was whispering with news, hushed conversations and glances towards the Teacher's Table. Dumbledore was missing, and so was Professor Carrow.

Zevi's lips tightened.

What had happened? He glanced sideways at Tom, because his lord normally knew everything that went on, but the other's face was blank but for a vague, disinterested curiosity.

He switched his gaze to Harry, but there were no clues there - the ex Gryffindor seemed not to even have noticed the commotion, but for a slight tenseness of his shoulders. He gripped his coffee mug like a lifeline, appearing lost in thought.

He flicked his eyes back to Tom again, to note his Lord was studying Harry too now, though it was discreet and he didn't say anything. The two exchanged looks, but he wasn't well versed enough in their language to hazard its meaning.

Harry returned to his coffee.

Zevi had never been a big coffee drinker himself, it seemed to be more an American thing and he preferred tea, thank you very much (British, naturally, not the horrible way they attempted it in foreign countries) but he supposed Harry had picked up the habit due to needing the extra caffeine kick to stay awake. The other was practically an insomniac, even if he had got better than before.

"What's going on?" Abraxas whispered.

Professor McGonagall stood up at the front, her features pulled back in a stern frown.

"Classes for today have been cancelled," she stated, in what he still mentally coined her 'Gryffindor prefect voice.' "A ministry official will be visiting later this week in the light of recent events."

The murmur of voices swelled even louder, and then the post was swooping in and everything was so much more messier.

He watched it all impassively, observing the hundred twirling and tangling with feathers, creased parchment and expressions of joy and sadness alternatively.

Tom's eyes didn't change when that black hawk landed in front of him, holding a large box, but everyone else in the vicinity who knew its significance went rigid - Harry most of all. The tenseness in his shoulders grew more pronounced, and his knuckles bleached white around the mug of his coffee, but his expression didn't change.

That, in itself, was alarming.

Tom shot the boy a sideways look, flicking his wand at the package, casting several detection charms, before finally allowing the parcel to unravel from its holdings.

Zevi suddenly wished he hadn't had breakfast, his stomach plummeting with icy nausea.

"Brilliant," Tom murmured, though his eyes had darkened to near black, causing Harry to glare at him flatly.

"I'm disturbed that you're saying 'brilliant' over my severed head."

Tom glanced at the other, a smirk on his face, but it was somewhat forced, not easy.

"It's not actually your head. It's called Transfiguration. We learn it in class."

"It's gross," Harry deadpanned, and Zevi wasn't sure if he was shocked, appalled or admiring of how calm the younger seemed. "Get my- _the_ bloody head off the bloody table."

"You mean I can't keep it?" Tom asked, eyebrows arched, teasing, and Harry's eyes flashed dangerously.

Tom directed his wand at the - it looked like Harry's head, it looked disturbingly like Harry's severed head, and if it was _his _he'd be throwing up - transfigured object, praying it would be something less grotesque in its real form. It wasn't.

Someone actually did vomit, a first y

ear down the table, and it was drawing attention from everyone in their halls. It was another - _shit_, Professor Carrow! He clamped a hand to his mouth. He'd prefer to be working with Butoberpus, or…anything.

He wasn't a coward, and Tom had no use for anyone with a weak stomach, but…_Merlin. _The Slytherin Heir appeared utterly unaffected.

"I think you need another Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Minerva," he merely stated, blandly.

"Mr Riddle - what is - what is the _meaning of this?" _McGonagall shrieked, barely managing to keep her tone modulated. Her face had turned an odd greenish tinge.

He didn't blame her. It was horrible…and Salazar…they were supposed to _eat _off this table.

"What happened to keeping a low profile?" Harry demanded. "What did you _do?"_

Tom didn't answer, infuriatingly. Harry fists clenched, the one not necessarily around his coffee mug handle this time. For a split second, Zevi imagined what would happen if Harry did punch Tom in the face like he apparently desired to - and he saw Tom shift marginally as if in anticipation of the event - before he threw the theorising out of his head as heresy.

"_Mr Riddle!" _

Tom didn't look at her, his gaze lingering back onto Harry for a moment.

"If you do not answer, I will be forced to put you into detention - do you have any idea how _serious _this is? - a full investigation is to be launched into the death of-

"Tom laughed, the sound absolutely cold, and he and every other Slytherin glanced involuntarily at the 'Boy-who-lived' to see how he was handling this, and praying he would do it well.

He wondered when they'd assigned dealing with Tom to be Harry's job, and when the other had become the only one they trusted with their leader, relatively without jealousy. Harry and Tom…they just were, nowadays, and he'd seen Tom when Harry was gone or injured and it was _BAD. _Therefore, he couldn't resent being second place.

"There's no investigation necessary," their Lord said. "Professor Carrow died because she betrayed her superiors, and regardless to any mysterious elements of her murder, she was a Death Eater which puts her fate into the Dark Lord's jurisdiction, not yours."

"Then why was it sent to you?" the Deputy Headmistress demanded, eyes tight with suspicion. "Under transfiguration to make it look like Mr Potter's head?"

Tom examined his fingernails in an epitome of boredom.

"Because Voldemort was trying - and failing, I might add - to make a point. Anything else? No? Fabulous."

Then he hissed something, before anyone could object to him, his last words directed presumably to Harry, as he was the only one who could understand parseltongue.

Tom had grabbed the other's arm, and pulled Harry out the hall.

Slytherin withered to something greyer without them.

* * *

Harry doubted anyone else could see it, but he could _feel _Tom's emotions bubbling beneath its icy prison, leaking through to him in the violent fierceness of the grip on his arm.

He went along with wherever they were walking to, not out of any trust or submissiveness, but with the intent awareness of where Tom's relentless and insistent fingers had curled - around his wrist, and his pulse. Normally, Tom grabbed his forearm or upper arm, and so he knew the action was deliberate.

The young Dark Lord could probably sense his heart racing through the beat in his wrists, the erratic fluttering brought on by seeing his own _head_ on his breakfast table. No one could see that completely without flinching or reaction, not even Tom if their roles had been reversed.

So he allowed the hold, keeping step with Tom's furious pace.

They stopped at any empty classroom, and only then did Tom release him.

"You have questions."

"What the _hell _was that about?" he asked, softly. "As far as I'm aware, shouldn't Voldemort be thinking you're obliviated and kidnapped round about now?"

"Too limiting. I'm not going to play the victim longer than I have to, when it doesn't benefit me more to keep up the charade. I have plans, and I have a deadline, as you well know, I don't have the time to cater to his opinion of me…besides, Carrow was reporting on my actions."

Harry's mind stopped for a second.

_She died because she betrayed her superiors…_

"Did you kill Carrow?" he asked, keeping his voice carefully level

."Of course," Tom said, without remorse. "I wasn't going to refrain from retaliating to him."

"So you killed Carrow to get back at Voldemort for trying to obliviate you," Harry confirmed, with a small amount of irritation, and a nagging sense that he should be more horrified. "And that was his retaliation and now…it's war, or something?"

"Essentially, yes," Tom replied evenly.

"**Tom!"** he snapped. "Damn it, you need to work on that temper, you can't just- she's dead!"

"Yes, I figured that out around the time her slit her stomach open," Tom drawled.

"You can't just kill people!"

Tom rounded on him, and the next second hands were clamped on either side of his head, and the other had bent to level their faces.

"**I warned him more than enough to stay away from me and my own."**

"So I've turned you into a murderer; I feel so much better," Harry returned acidly.

"She deserved to die," Tom whispered harshly, hands sliding to his shoulders.

"You lost your temper," he rebutted. "This is not a logical plan. This is not you."

"No," Tom rejected, very softly, gently almost. "This is very much me. And you know that, you're just flinching from the truth, bless you."

Harry twitched his arm back, shielding the Munin Band, just in case.

"Then why are you revealing this facet of your personality right now?"

His stomach churned.

"Why indeed," Tom murmured. "Are you frightened?"

"No."

"Horrified? Disturbed? Repulsed?"

"Somewhat on the first two," Harry replied carefully. Tom was quiet for a while, studying him.

"I can attack Voldemort's armies without hesitation, and he knows that, though he barely cares for the individual pieces," the other began. "However, there is nothing he can do to most of my forces without causing a time paradox…you, on the other hand."

Tom's fingers curled tighter around his shoulders.

"To be honest, he was trying to kill me anyway," Harry murmured, cavalier.

"Which means it makes no difference if I destroy him for the audacity," Tom returned coldly, without missing a beat.

"I don't want you killing on my behalf! I hate that!"

"Well, I don't want you jumping into reckless, suicidal situations that end up with you near dead in the Hospital Wing because you have an overwhelming hero complex, but you do that anyway," Tom shrugged. "Are you planning on stopping doing that any time soon?"

"You bastard! That's totally different-"

"How so?" Tom enquired delicately. "All I see is that we both have traits we loathe in each other, of which we are at some point going to have to come to a compromise about, by the way. I'll change my methods when you change yours, golden boy. Until then, don't presume to lecture me."

Harry's eyes narrowed

."As for other reasons why I'd tell you…seeing as he can't get at me, he is going to use you against me as you're the only person who he can use against me, and your friends against you to be able to manipulate you in the first place."

Tom was warning him, filling him on the situation for once.  
He wasn't sure what to make of that.

"Would his threatening me be able to make you do what he wanted?" Harry asked, testing the waters, pushing. Tom appraised him for a few seconds, before turning for the door again.

"I'd rather not find out. Caring about you is a curse enough already without adding that liability onto it. Watch yourself."

"You're going to retaliate again, aren't you?" Harry questioned, keeping pace again, easily, biting his lip.

"Yes. And nothing you say will change that, by the way, darling."

Harry seized his arm, pulling a slightly startled Tom to a halt with the strong grip.

"Then _you _watch yourself. This caring crap goes both ways."

He swept past without giving the other the chance to respond.

* * *

Her and Ron caught up with Harry in the Owlery, where he was mailing a letter to Sirius. He had the expression of a cornered snake, facing them, hunching defensively. It broke her heart.

"You've been avoiding us," Ron said bluntly. Harry sighed, running fingers through his tousled hair.

"Can we not do this now? I'm having a pretty terrible day."

"No," Ron folded his arms. "We're doing this now. No excuses. What's this prophecy and why didn't you tell us? We're your best friends!"

Harry's eyes closed for a moment, and he seemed to be trying to stave off a headache.

"Yell about it for the world to hear, why don't you?" the other muttered, before sighing again.

"And what was the commotion at the Slytherin table this morning?"

"Carrow's head."

Silence reigned. Hermione's insides twisted with shock, disgust, terror. No. No way. She didn't believe it. She…

"A-are you serious?" she whispered. "That's awful."

"Why?" Ron scowled. "She was a miserable, Death Eater scumbag." She shot him a dark glare, to which he boyfriend cowered from, his jaw ticking stubbornly nonetheless.

"_Why_?"

"Because Tom and Voldemort have declared war on each other, and so, naturally, everyone else gets dragged into it," Harry replied, his voice tight, his eyes shadowed. "Stupid twat's going to get himself in trouble."

"Merlin," Ron muttered, wide eyed. "Why are they arguing?"

But Hermione was thinking furiously, eyes fixed on her best friend.

"Because of you," she said, without accusation.

It was just a fact.

Somewhere in the whole thing, behind whatever excuses and justifications they were fabricating to the rest of the world, Tom and Voldemort were on some level fighting over Harry. She wasn't sure on the specifics, but she was certain Harry was somehow involved.

Ron looked between them. Harry's fists clenched.

"The thing is," he continued, "Voldemort can't attack Tom or any of Tom's death eaters-

""But he can attack you. You're Tom's weak point," she finished. Harry grimaced at the word, and, mildly exasperated but nonetheless earnest, she rolled her eyes. "That doesn't make you _weak_, honestly Harry, you're the strongest person I know."

He smiled back, faintly, and for a moment it felt like the last several months had never happened. Then the smile was gone again, for that impassiveness she was coming to despise.

"How do you know Harry's Tom's weak point?" Ron asked, in a reasonable tone of voice. "The git doesn't care about anyone."

She gave him an incredulous look.

"Have you seen them around each other?" she demanded.

"Not really, they normally go off by themselves," Ron replied, shooting Harry an apologetic glance.

"And the times Harry was in the hospital wing, for example, when his heart stopped?" she insisted.

How could he _not _see it? It was obvious. Or maybe it was only female's who could read subtext so clear that it could be a literal storyline.

"He didn't do anything then, he didn't say a word, and left the second Harry was stable-"

"Oh for God's sake, Ronald," she threw her hands impatiently into the air. "Did you see yourself that day? You were distraught-" he flushed as red as his hair -"and asking loads of, what he would consider stupid, questions and _Tom Riddle _did not say a word….he didn't insult you, he didn't acknowledge you when you tried to _hit _him, he didn't sit down once and he was pale as sheet. Have you ever seen him like that before?"

Ron was quiet. That spoke in himself.

She turned back to Harry, to find him staring at her.

"Ron tried to hit Tom?" there was something rather feral and dangerous that had her wanting to inch her boyfriend away, despite the fact that she knew intellectually that Harry wouldn't deliberately hurt either of them.

She immediately decided to never bring up the time she _had _hit him - Riddle was just so infuriating! Sexist bigot.

"You were injured!" The red head protested. "What was I supposed to think?"

"Gee, I don't know," Harry drawled, sharply. "Oh dear there's been a Death Eater attack, which one of _them _put a hole through my best friend's chest?"

"I don't trust Riddle."

"Doesn't give you a right to hit him!"

"I didn't actually hit him!" Ron yelped. "It was ages ago, anyway."

Harry's glare could have made a ghost exorcise itself. The air suddenly felt very awkward, and she pulled anxiously at a strand of her hair.

"And the prophecy?" she queried, softly. Eyes still possessing a cutting, laser-like quality, Harry's attention shifted to her. His shoulders slumped.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…"_

* * *

Tom didn't waste a large amount of time on his retaliation, he just used whatever he had on hand - his wand, and his knowledge of the Dark Mark.

He found himself to be pretty pleased with the result, and wondered absently what Harry would think when he found out about it. Then he caught himself. He neither needed or wanted Harry's approval.

He certainly didn't need it, at any rate. Admittedly, Harry's approval tended to be a pleasant surprise, especially if it involved awe, but he wouldn't actively seek it.

Besides, there was no point wasting time on beating his elder counterpart, or dramatically trying to out-stage him at this point; he had other, more important, priorities.

Like the time spell, which was proving to be even more difficult than he had anticipated. There was just so many components, that he needed to juggle, and make permanent. It all also had to be able to be tied specifically to Harry, and Harry had yet to do something which he could twist into a Horcrux.

His soul was perfect.

Oh well. It was worth it if the end prize was Harry.

"Hello Tom," a light voice greeted. He paused, taking in the blonde girl sitting near him, _knitting. _

It was her.

He kept his features from twisting into expressions of annoyance. Oh how irritating this girl was. She was like a weed - she popped up everywhere she wasn't supposed to be, wild and disobedient…a bit like Harry, actually, but Harry wasn't so unbearably fluffy.

"Lovegood," he responded, neutrally. "Do you want something?

"Harry is a lovely person," she told him, quietly, randomly. "But he's very damaged. Rather like you."

"And you should hold your tongue on matters that don't concern you."

She looked up at him, azure eyes piercing.

"You're both so guarded, you don't trust each other, and you fear being vulnerable around each other…but, you are vulnerable, you both are, because you love each other whether you admit it or not."

Oh for CRYING OUT LOUD. Not this again.

"I'm a psychopath. I. Don't. Love."

"You love him," she insisted, unafraid. "As much as you, a psychopath, have ever loved…or obsessed…over anyone. And he loves you." Her normally dreamy eyes were sad. "It terrifies you."

"Stop reading poor romance novels and inflicting their distorted impression on the world around you," he bit out icily. "You sound ridiculous."

"You don't know what you're doing with him, and so you push him. You push in search of his breaking point, because only that leverage would, you believe, make you feel safe again from that vulnerability you so despise. But it would hurt you more than him, if you found that point, if you pushed too far. Broken hearts can't feel, and it would destroy you to see the life and emotion drained from him, especially by your own hands, however much you scorn his sentiment."

"It's probably a good thing I'm not aiming to break him then," he said, turning on her, sick of the topic. She skipped up, following after him.

"Well, you were never aiming to be your elder counterpart either," she said, softly. His back stiffened, but he gave no other reaction to her uncanny knowledge. "Harry's never let anyone in like he did with you, you know. He's…different with you."

He spun around again, with the suspicion she would follow him to places even less suitable for this awful conversation.

"Do you think I'm unaware of that?" he questioned, icily, his temper volatile. "I'm not stupid. Is there a point to this?"

"No," she shrugged. He closed his eyes, praying for patience, sensing his oaths wouldn't allow him to hurt her as he so wished to do.

"Then why are you following me?

""Because your side looked empty without him, and the space made me sad."

His jaw clenched.

She might actually be worse than Granger.

* * *

Harry had finally finished talking with Ron and Hermione.

It felt like a great weight he hadn't even realised was there had been lifted from his shoulders. They taken it…okay, all things considering, better once he'd explained the theory he and Tom had come to.

Hermione had stared at him in what looked suspiciously like astonishment.

Her spell was also going well, her time spell. He figured his version was less complicated than Tom's because he didn't have to try and prevent a paradox while doing it.

Everything was progressing slowly.

The night before Tom had claimed to know nothing about the Dumbledore/Grindewald thing, except that they'd supposedly known each other in some capacity before the war - and didn't that stir uneasiness in his gut.

Last night…he cringed to think of it.

Why did he still keeping_losing _to Tom! It was maddening. He had no reason to - Tom couldn't use his friends against him any…Tom couldn't use his friends against him anymore? So why was he still acting like he had something to fear?

Because Tom had another weapon.

He'd seen how Harry had reacted on the Astronomy Tower, what felt oh so long ago, and it had exacerbated with rumours to be that the second Tom started doing something even remotely like hitting on him he just…cowered. It was pathetic.

It wasn't like Tom would ever take it far enough to…would he? He'd like to think it had been an act, that Tom wouldn't unwillingly force him onto him just to prove a point.

The problem was that he wasn't certain Tom wouldn't. It would be horrible if he did.

Harry knew, instinctively, that any level of comfort he had with the other boy would vanish if Tom did something like that, even if and when he told him to stop.

It made him cringe just to think about it.

It was the one…area…he hadn't pushed in, pretty much. The whole 'everyone assumes we fancy each other' area. He didn't want to go there. Tom didn't care.

Tom had the advantage, if he ever needed it, and he had shown no inclination to use that threat particularly judiciously either.

He needed to get rid of that threat…but how?

He needed to find some more Horcruxes too for that matter…and merlin, he was not going to go into the long list of everything he needed to do.

Crying.

Someone was crying.

He froze on the spot, wondering if he should just quietly back away and go in another direction…he edged forwards.

Did someone need help?

He couldn't just-Lestrange.

_Lestrange was crying. _

He had never felt so awkward. He stumbled backwards, wishing he'd just done that in the first place.

A floorboard creaked.

They locked gazes.

Oh no.

* * *

A/N: This chapter was horrible to write :( It just wouldn't jazz. I'm sorry people. Next one will be better, I promise...

Thanks for all the amazing reviews :) 200 to go for 3000! :O


	130. Chapter 129

Chapter 129:

Lestrange scrubbed hastily, furiously, at his face, but even that couldn't hide the relentless spill of tears and the red puffiness of his eyes. Harry's mouth felt dry.

"Potter," Cygnus muttered, angrily, scrambling to his feet and reaching for his wand.

On instinct, Harry disarmed him, catching the weapon, unable to stop staring.

_Lestrange was crying._

Shoulders hunched even more, defensively as if to make a smaller target, but a wilful, hateful expression remained upon those features.

"Are you okay?" he asked, not sure what else to say. Lestrange made a choked sound.

"Fuck off Evans."

"You're crying…"

"I'm _not _crying," the other snarled, fists clenched. "Tell anyone I am and I'll _kill _you."

"Second time lucky?" he returned, arching his brows, unable to prevent the taunt from slipping by his lips. Lestrange's face contorted further, more animalistic than human, his breathing heavy.

Harry took a thoughtful step closer, noting the way Lestrange cringed back against the wall. His eyes scanned over the figure before him.

Tight muscles, ready for fight or flight….dark rings around his eyes like shadows, signifying a lack of sleep…wild, manic eyes…lips white with fury and drawn back in a snarl…bruises….crumpled.

A shell of a man.

A desperate man.

A broken man.

His heart twisted despite himself.

"What in Salazar's name happened to you?" he demanded, his voice barely above a whisper. "You look terrible…those…you're _bruised…"_

_"_Just leave me be," Lestrange spat. "It's none of your business."

Harry reached out a hand, ignoring the way the other flinched, not sure if he was satisfied or repulsed by the terror in Cygnus' posture.

"What happened?" he questioned again, with more steel this time. "Tell me."

"Why should I?"

"Because I want to help."

"I don't want _your _help," Lestrange drew back, practically flattening himself against the wall. "Always have to play the hero - don't you? - just get _away _from me I HATE you!" He dropped his hand.

"Why?" he asked. Lestrange gaped at him as if he was a freak.

"Why _what_?" he snapped.

"Why do you hate me?"

"I'm not playing therapist so you can humiliate me further!"

"Well, I'm not leaving until you tell me what the hell happened to you," he returned, evenly, albeit a bit sharply. He shouldn't be, but he was…concerned.

Maybe it was the 'hero complex' but he felt compelled to help. He…he just pitied the ghost of a boy in front of him, more than anything.

Of course, he could hardly stand the other, the thought of him disgusted him and he also thought he was pathetic…but he couldn't in good conscience just ignore him if something was wrong.

Besides, he did need Lestrange's help…and he was curious about why he seemed to offend the other so, to the point of murder. It couldn't only be because the other was in love with Tom, could it? Maybe he could reconcile wanting to help with his own aims?

"_You _happened to me," Lestrange hissed. "Now get lost and go die."

"You hated me from the second we met, I did nothing to you," he replied irritably, ignoring the latter suggestion. Lestrange glowered at him in mutinous silence, tear tracks still etched on his cheeks.

He folded his arms in a show of patience, leaning into the wall next to the other boy, disregarding the light warning burn of the Horcrux around his neck.

He'd been talking to Marvolo everyday, as bargained, but he'd been careful to avoid discussing anything important. Maybe that had to change - he was just nervous to try and juggle both Marvolo's and Tom's manipulations at the same time.

"Are you seriously just going to stand there? Because you'll be waiting a long time if you think I will willingly have anything to do with you," Lestrange growled, still scrubbing at his eyes, taking a wrathful step towards him once more, but the bolster and swagger in his movements had gone, replaced by the more guarded circling of an enemy wolf.

Harry reminded himself that the other was unarmed, and wouldn't be able to beat him in fight anyway. Lestrange had nothing on Tom.

"I didn't make that clear?" he returned, arching his brows. Lestrange seemed to be fighting for composure.

Harry knew, on some level, that they way he was handling this was cruel - if their roles had been reversed, he would have been mortified and willing to do anything to get the other away from witnessing his struggle and weakness.

Harry could feel his left arm beginning to prickle, along with the thrum of the locket around his neck. He ignored them both, the warning, pressing forwards recklessly.

"I know you're in love with Tom," he stated, quietly, watching Lestrange's reactions closely. The other whitened, like a ghost.

"I-I don't know-"

"Tom told me," he cut in, bluntly. Lestrange looked up at with dark, anguished eyes, barely containing violence.

"I don't know what you're hoping to achieve," the other replied, tightly, "but you have nothing I want, so will you leave?"

"What about if I said I could get Tom to stop ignoring you?" he replied, studying his fingernails.

He felt Lestrange go absolutely rigid, tears still swelling in his eyes. Harry squashed down compassion; he couldn't afford it now. Then, to his surprise, Lestrange's jaw clenched.

"And spend the rest of my life second best to you?" he sneered. "No. I've had enough of that, thanks."

Harry's breath almost caught in his throat, but he kept his composure carefully, not sure if it was because he'd finally developed the skill of neutrality or because his face had frozen in position.

"Second best to me?" he enquired delicately. Lestrange's mouth twisted, and he laughed, sounding somewhat crazed or hysterical.

"You haven't noticed? Everyone's always second best to you, I'm guessing your blood traitor friend is secretly relieved to get rid of you, because now he can finally step out of your overwhelming shadow."

Lestrange took a step forward, eyes glinting, hands snapping out, clutching each side of his face like Tom had done earlier, nails digging in to draw blood. Harry tightened his grip on his wand, a curse ready on his tongue.

"Dumbledore, Voldemort, _Tom_…it's all about you…what's so special about you?" the other murmured, breath hot on his face.

"Let go of me, Lestrange," he ordered, without inflection or fear. "If you help me, there's a good chance you'll end up with Tom to yourself anyway, and Voldemort, for that matter. Is that enticement enough?"

He could see by the look on Lestrange's face that it was, but those hands didn't let go, and it was making him uneasy. "_Lestrange_."

The fingers slid off his face obediently, and he resisted the strong urge to step back, not at all sure about the stability of the figure before him. His skin was stinging.

"What is it you need?"

"Something from the Lestrange vault, it's not your business what, but I can assure you it won't be a family heirloom or anything like that," he replied, getting straight to the point.

Cygnus surveyed him with sharp eyes.

"Okay. Deal," he agreed, abruptly. Harry's eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"And you won't try and get me killed during the trip, or in anyway harmed or locked in a vault, or accused of theft?" he added, watching momentary disappointment flitter over the other's face. It was somewhat disturbing how much his fellow Slytherin wanted him dead.

"Yes, yes," Lestrange snarled. "And you will, the next time you see him, get Tom to stop ignoring me - and get him to show me some positive attention, not-" Lestrange's fingers began to dig and scratch at his skin, alarmingly. "Not negative."

"Deal," Harry agreed, warily, already mentally searching as to what plausible loopholes were left to both of them.

"Deal," Lestrange gripped his hand, and a gentle throb of magic ran between their fingers. It wasn't anywhere near an Unbreakable or an Oath, but it was a magical acknowledgement of their negotiations.

"And what will you concede me for my silence? I presume you don't want Tom to know of this plan of yours, as otherwise he would be ordering my cooperation on your stead?" Lestrange queried slyly.

Harry scarcely refrained from gritting his teeth. He glanced over the other's bruises again.

"I'll ensure Zevi, Abraxas, Alphard or Draco don't castrate you or attack you. They don't seem very fond of you, and Tom's attention alone will not protect you from their hate."

Terror flashed in the depths of Cygnus' pupils, just for a second.

"Fine," he bit out. Harry nearly smirked, but simply nodded.

He appraised Lestrange for a further moment, with a slight uneasiness, and the knowledge that he still didn't know why the other had been crying in the first place.

Small steps…he turned to continue on his way, tossing the wand back, not sure if he could stomach the other's presence any longer.

Salazar…he was going to have put up with Lestrange again…damn it. And somehow persuade Tom to redeem Lestrange and _not _torture him…yay.

That would be a _fun _conversation.

"Evans," the other called, after him, and he stopped, turning his head back. Lestrange's eyes were so dark they were almost black. "I hope he destroys you like he did me."

Harry's fists clenched, despite himself.

"Well, if he does," he replied pleasantly, with an icy smile, "I'd like to think I wouldn't sit in a corridor crying about it."

He didn't look back that time.

* * *

John Dawlish sprinted down the corridors of the Auror Department, skidding into his boss' office.

"Sir-Mr Scrimgeour-sir-the Death Eaters-sir- they're-"

The wiry, lion like man whipped around, wand already in his hand.

"For Circe's sake, speak clearly and concisely man! What is it?"

Dawlish drew in a deep breath, never feeling so bewildered in his life.

"Sir they're…well, it seems their marks have turned on them, they're handing themselves in…loads of them."

"What the devil is that Dark Lord planning?" the man growled, pacing up and down his office. "Lead the way, Dawlish. Where's Shacklebolt and Tonks?"

"Sir, that's not all," he said, quickly. "They don't seem - the Death Eaters, that is - well, they're resisting being taken in."

"You just said they were handing themselves over!"

"Their Dark Marks," he said earnestly, "are handing them over, they're not going on their own accord, their begging for the Dark Lord's mercy actually. It's…it's a riot in the Atrium sir, people are scared."

Scrimgeour's lips thinned.

"Alert the minister, and someone get me Dumbledore. Everyone, move-now!"

Sometimes, Dawlish thought, glumly, he wondered what had possessed him to join this department.

* * *

Harry felt the breath leave his lungs when two hands grabbed his collar, seemingly out of nowhere, slamming him up against the wall behind him. He stiffened, before blinking.

Tom.

He looked pretty pissed off for some reason.

"You know," Harry said lightly, "you've got to stop pinning me up against things. It doesn't give a very good impression, and I dare say it would be easier just telling me to stop when you want to talk to me."

"Your emotions are spiking, what the _hell_ have you been up to?" Tom glanced at the Horcrux around his neck, one of his fingers running across the hot gold. "And this thing has been flitting to me for the last ten minutes."

Flitting? The heat bursts? Oh crap, he'd forgotten Tom had been able to sense the Locket and what Marvolo was feeling.

Bloody Marvolo.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," he replied, in an appeasing manner, starting to prise Tom's fingers from his shirt. The grip tightened in response, tugging upwards slightly, bringing him up onto his toes.

For what had to be the millionth time, Harry cursed the fact that Tom was taller than him. The other didn't loom over him or anything, but he was about a good head higher, which made situations like this so very uncomfortable. Why were none of his friends short? Why wasn't he taller? It was bitterly unfair.

"Not reassuring," Tom hissed. "Ordinary for you is sabotage, trouble and mass murderers out for your blood."

"Why are you so worked up suddenly?" he asked, controlling the snap of his voice. He needed Tom in a relatively good mood for his negotiations on Lestrange's behalf.

"Forgotten already that my life is attached to yours, golden boy?"

Oh. He grimaced. He didn't think Tom would take the fact that he had actually…temporarily…forgotten as a good response.

It had all been a bit of blur at the time, in fairness.

"I'm in Hogwarts, perfectly safe," he dismissed, instead, valiantly not thinking about the Philosopher's Stone, the Chamber, the troll, the other students or anything else like that. "And I thought you'd haven taken that off by now."

"With Voldemort liable to be after your head more than ever, as illustrated by his _gift_ this morning?" Tom returned coldly. "Not a chance. Our joint fate is probably the only reason he didn't send you explosives for breakfast. He won't kill you until it's removed."

"I don't need your life attached to mine!" Harry protested, panicked.

It was a stupid idea, he didn't know why Tom had done it. What good would it do if both of them ended up dead because of some accident?

What if he randomly tripped down the stairs or something? Ugh. His life was too dangerous for it to be that closely connected to someone else's wellbeing.

Especially the wellbeing of someone he cared about.

"I don't know," Tom replied, coolly, "it might force you to think about the stupid things you get yourself into for once."

Harry scowled, silent for a moment.

"And what part of this conversation necessitates shoving me against surfaces?"

"The part where it keeps your attention."

"Because I'm normally distracted by shiny objects, you mean?" he returned scathingly. "Let go, it's getting uncomfortable."

"Even more reason to stay like this," Tom drawled.

Harry rolled his eyes, before abruptly wrenching Tom's fingers off, and pushing him firmly backwards. He brushed himself down, spearing the other with his gaze.

"You're in a spectacularly foul mood all of a sudden," he noted. "Did your retaliation not go as planned?"

"It went fine," Tom snapped.

Harry arched his brows in silent question, head tilting, wondering if he should be worried or if this was one of Tom's normal mood swings. The Slytherin Heir crossed his arms.

"I've just been forced to endure the crazy blonde giving me relationship advice for the last half an hour."

Harry's lip twitched, but he graciously struggled to smother his sudden need to smirk. Tom shot him an unimpressed look, and he cracked; laughing.

"Luna," he confirmed, "tried to give you relationship advice? About who? What did she say?"

"Glad to see my suffering amuses you so," the young Dark Lord deadpanned. Harry fought once again to control his laughter, but only succeeded in making it worse. Tom's eyes began to glint, dangerously.

"And it was about you, actually."

The laughter stopped.

"What about me?" he demanded, not sure if he should be alarmed or not.

"Apparently we should kiss and get rid of the overwhelming sexual tension."

"She did not say that!" Harry protested. "Tom!"

"You disagree with her hypothesis?"

"Screw you."

"Yes, she recommended that too."

Harry narrowed his eyes, taking in Tom's sudden smirk, the taunt.

"You're avoiding the topic, what did she actually say?"

"What were you actually doing?" Tom returned. "Don't think I haven't noticed how you've switched the conversation onto me."

Harry folded his arms, mirroring Tom's closed off posture. They assessed each other for a few minutes.

"You know, darling, you have scratch marks on your face," Tom said, flatly.

Harry's hand shot up, automatically, to the mild stinging where Lestrange had gripped him. Merlin. The bastard had actually broken his skin! He couldn't believe it. He bet the git had done it on purpose, just to make things difficult.

"Hermione's cat doesn't like me," he excused, nonchalantly.

"Hermione's cat has nails?" Tom enquired. "What a fascinating specimen of feline that is. Pray, how did "Hermione's Cat" get such a grip on your face to leave nail scratches?"

"Nail scratches look a lot like cat scratches," Harry insisted. "You're jumping to conclusions. I dare say it's the jealousy again."

Tom favoured him with a challenging, vaguely disbelieving, look.

"Nail scratches look very different to _cat _scratches," he replied. "Unless the cat in question is McGonagall, or generally the informal colloquialism of cat, meaning an offensive term for a woman who is regarded as spiteful or malicious."

"Now really Tom, Minnie's not that bad," he replied.

"_Harry!" _

"What? She's not," Harry continued innocently. He began walking, Tom, hot on his heels, grabbed his arm once more.

"What. Happened?" the other demanded, in a very low, menacing tone of voice which suggested he was done with the banter and the playing.

Slender fingers traced against the skin Harry guessed held the scars.

He held still, more out of the awareness Tom would merely adjust his grip if he did move. Tom looked tense, agitated. This wasn't helping with the mood thing, and Lestrange had specified 'the next time you see him' in his side of the bargain.

Of course, he could have mumbled it and fulfilled the oath in that cheating way, but the truth was, he did genuinely need Lestrange's assistance sooner rather than later.

"I want you to, _nicely_, reinstate Lestrange back into your Death Eaters," he stated. "Don't ignore him anymore, and give him positive attention."

Tom was still, surveying him.

"Lestrange did this to you."

There was no questioning, it was a statement, and not a particularly pleased one at that.

"I _knew _it," Tom near hissed, fingers tightened on his shoulder again. "What were you doing that near to _him? _He tried to kill you, if you remember."

"It's quite a vivid memory," Harry said blandly, paying no notice to the glare directed his way.

"Then, barring being as stupid as you seem determined to convince me you are, why would you ask me to reinstate him, and why would I ever agree to it?"

"Because I'm asking you to." Implicitly; he was open to negotiation. Tom's eyes narrowed.

"What are you plotting involving Lestrange?"

"Is that the concession you are demanding?" he questioned, willing to play dirty. "My answer?"

"As if I'd ask something so little when this seems so important to you."

"Then what?" Harry dared. "What do you want?"

Tom studied him, critically, and Harry could practically see the different responses dancing in his eyes.

"What if I refuse to enter negotiations with you?" The Slytherin Heir asked, quietly, challengingly. "How will whatever it is your plotting fare then?"

Badly. Very badly. Still, he made a pretence of shrugging casually.

"Well, if you have none of your normally numerous concessions to demand…" he trailed off, disentangling himself from the general Tom-sphere, sauntering down the corridor. He held his breath.

"_**Wait**_."

He stopped, relatively triumphant, but didn't turn. He felt Tom come up behind him, and circle to stand before him, arms folded lazily again.

"I'll reinstate Lestrange, and show him the positive attention he doesn't deserve, on two conditions…" the other proposed.

Wariness coiled in his gut, but he simply gestured for Tom to continue.

"The first, you will not be alone with him. Ever."

Not good for his plans…but, how alone was he in Gringotts? It made everything more difficult certainly, but it was manageable.

"And the second?"

"**You let me make you a Horcrux, and cooperate with me regarding it."**

Crap.

* * *

A/N: So, I was a bit bored. You got an update out of it. I hope you liked it. Any chance a 175 of your or so of you 800 estimated readers feel like reviewing for 3000? :P Not that I'll refuse to write or anything if you don't, but you know, just for kicks. I love reviews, as most writer's do haha. 

Anyhow, hope you enjoyed it :) Does it feel like the story's making progression?

PS: Just so you know, I've given up on the Slash issue. It's not slash, they're not going to start kissing or dating or anything like that (at least not as anything but a joke or whatever) but yeah, if you want to view this is a preslash or even slash, I have given up trying to persuade you otherwise, lol. It's an ambiguous relationship - read what you want in it. :)

* * *

Note: I've just been informed that on Tuesday it is the 2 year anniversary of writing Fate's Favourite - woo! - haven't we come a long way? I feel this deserves a DD anniversy oneshot. Any requests/ideas?


	131. Chapter 130

Chapter 130:

"You're kidding," Harry stated, numbly, wishing desperately for it to be true, and knowing somewhere inside that it wasn't.

Tom simply stared at him.

"Consider it an investment," The Slytherin Heir said quietly. "A confirmation that you're not replaceable to me, and that I'd be willing to spend the rest of my life with you."

Harry swallowed, feeling vaguely hysterical, panic-stricken, sliding to sit against the wall.

"Careful, you're beginning to sound like you're proposing to me," he joked faintly. Tom's eyes didn't leave him, intent in their scrutiny.

"If it helps you to think of it like that," was all he said. "Though don't expect a wedding or a ring or anything nearing tradition…it's just an analogy."

Harry laughed, pretty sure his voice sounded strained and choked.

"You're asking me to abandon every single moral principle I have!" he snapped. "I, _Salazar, _you know I think they're wrong."

"Morals are such oppressive things, I dare say you'd be happier, freer, without them," Tom replied, as if this argument was nothing. Harry's fists clenched.

"You're asking me to split my soul!"

"I'm fully aware of specifics of the process."

Harry closed his eyes, feeling a headache building incessantly in his temples.

"And you don't see anything wrong with it?" he questioned.

"Psychopath," Tom reminded, with a tone of long-suffering patience, "wrong and right mean nothing to me as moral concepts, and morality is itself merely another limitation by which I don't and won't abide…as you well know."

"I-_no_," Harry stated, incredulous. "I can't agree to this."

Tom continued to look at him,

"I see. Is spending an eternity with me really that repulsive to you?"

Harry felt a pang of horrendous guilt, before he gritted his teeth, struggling to banish it along with the lost strain in Tom's tone. Emotional manipulation.

"Stop it," he growled. "That's not fair, and you know it's not true…I just…it's not you it's me."

Tom's eyebrows arched at the phrase, and Harry resisted the urge to crawl into a hole and hide their for the rest of his life.

"What I mean is," he continued, tightly, "_you're_the one who wants immortality, I never have, and it's **Horcruxes** that are repulsive to me! Sure, I'm happy to spend time with you as long as I live, Salazar, do you think I'd be dealing with Lestrange or trying to fulfil my plan which, just in case you hadn't gathered, _saves your life,_ if I didn't? But what you're suggesting? No. I refuse to prolong my life that way. It. Is. Sick."

"Well, neither of us are going to live very long if you don't," Tom said, reasonably, the lost strain vanished as a discarded act. "The timeline implodes in four months if neither of our plans come to play. I can't ever complete my plans if you refuse to do this, and you can't move on with yours if I don't play ball either."

"Sounds like a stalemate," Harry remarked.

Tom crouched down, coming to his level, hand reaching out, lifting the Golden Locket around his throat, tugging so the chain cut into his skin, but showing no intent to remove it from around his neck.

"Indeed, and yet…take this, for example, I could destroy it and you'd have no chance. You're already always going to be missing one piece, you can't afford to lose another, can you?."

Harry narrowed his eyes.

"You know, it's funny," he said, coldly. "You claim your plan saves my life, but is it really me you're interested in saving and spending the rest of your life with…or is some amoral ideal of me, because, I'll say this now, I'm never going to be able to live up to that expectation. Sorry to disappoint."

For the first time since Tom had made his condition, a genuine emotion flashed across the other's face, too quick to be deciphered, but there nonetheless.

"Do you really think I'd be the same after it was done?" Harry asked, somehow trying to comprehend Tom's convoluted thought patterns.

"Most people would kill for what I'm offering you."

"Yeah, and I dare say it would have to be literally too...I can't kill someone in cold blood, I _can't_ make one, Tom, even if I agreed to this, I _can't." _

"I'm sure you could," Tom dismissed. "And even if you truly couldn't, we have a soul bond between us, I'm sure I could use that and edit the enchantment and do it for you."

"What, kill someone and tear my soul instead of yours?" Harry was horrified.

"Exactly," Tom surveyed him darkly, appearing mildly irritated. "So take it as a sign of mercy that I even offered you the choice, I could just do it behind your back."

"I'd never forgive you," Harry spat, reeling back. "Friends don't do that to each other, Tom."

"Friends…" Tom gave a bitter, smile. "You expect me to be friends with you, open myself to that type of vulnerability, only for you to grow old - or ill - and abandon me? No chance. I'm not stupid or masochistic enough to put myself through that."

Harry sighed, suddenly exhausted, sensing somewhere that the last line hadn't been a pretence, that it was a large part of Tom's more personal motivations for this.

"That's life," he murmured. "Dying is a part of life. You can't just…preserve and pickle people, freeze them like a photograph…it doesn't work like that. I'm _sorry_, but it doesn't. We're not supposed to be immortal."

"Supposed to be," Tom laughed. "We have magic, and power, and our whole lives ahead of us, 'supposed to' is just another bar in the prison society creates for us. If there's a means, we can do whatever we want, damn what we're _supposed _to do."

"And yet, being immortal with you - which I fundamentally disagree with - I'd have to do that a thousand times over." He'd outlive all his friends, survive in a cycle of goodbyes. It was hell.

"Think carefully before you say no," Tom warned, silkily, dangerously. "I will get my way regardless, at least this way you get your concession too and at a time when you need it."

Harry swallowed, nauseous. Could Tom really give him a Horcrux, without his permission?

"If you make me one, I'll destroy it," he stated.

"As if I ever planned on letting you keep hold of it," Tom returned, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "I'd never allow you the opportunity."

Harry pressed his lips together.

Everyday and never.

These were the times and words that made it so _easy_ to hate the other, but they were always entwined with the actions and motivations that made it simultaneously so difficult.

He could, to some extent, understand Tom's reasoning behind this, but he couldn't condone the method and the end result. Remorse.

He'd feel remorse.

True, deep, genuine remorse that would undo any Horcrux.

Could he make one - the thought alone appalled him - and then unmake it promptly afterwards? He was sure he could. It wouldn't take the blood off his hands though.

Yet, his hands were going to be stained by blood anyway, weren't they? And Tom's hands too, because the other was so ruthless and insistent regarding this. Tom was going to do everything he could to make him a Horcrux; it was, as horrible as the notion was, more a matter of what he could gain from going so against his morals, even temporarily.

Absently, Harry suspected that had been the olive branch of 'mercy' Tom had been getting at. For the young Dark Lord, it was almost kind…and that cut deeper than any cruelty the other could have shown. Still.

"You never answered by question," he said, watching the floor rather than the other. "Do you really think I'd be the same after?"

"I believe the core aspects of your personality would stay the same," Tom replied without hesitation.

After a moment, hands cupped his face, pulling it up to lock their gazes again, thumbs dragging against the nail marks.

"Whatever you think of me, Harry, I _know _you. You're strong enough to handle it…" the young Dark Lord paused. "And I swear I will not let you spiral, let you become that which you hate and what you're not…Voldemort had seven, you will have one, it's vastly different. I won't let you fall."

"And you?" Harry questioned, gripping Tom's wrists tightly, tight enough to know his hold must be painful to the Slytherin Heir. "If I agree to this, you must give me the condition that you will never make more. Don't…I can't watch that happen to you."

"Does this mean you're agreeing?" Tom's eyes were sparkling, no smile on his face, but happiness seemed to be radiating from him. True happiness.

Harry wanted to cry, to scream. To say "no," that he would think about it…anything but "yes."

"**I will let you make me a Horcrux if you never make more and agree to reinstate Lestrange into your circle immediately, and give him frequent positive attention." **

Tom studied him for a moment, and Harry resisted the urge to hold his breath.

"**If you let me make you a Horcrux as soon as possible, and don't try to destroy it thereafter, I will not make you anymore Horcruxes, and will not have more than one Horcrux at a time myself."**

"At a time?" Harry questioned. 'Try' didn't rule out succeeding and remorse.

"If one is somehow destroyed by my enemies, I'm not going to leave myself mortal," Tom replied flatly. Harry took a deep breath, despising himself, inwardly cowering, terrified and sickened.

"Than I accept. Deal."

"Deal," Tom agreed. There was a flash of magic.

Tom's smile was dazzling, brilliant.

"You won't regret it, sweetheart…I suppose I need to see Lestrange? Stay out of trouble, will you, and heal your face…"

"See you later," Harry replied softly.

Tom looked so…happy. Happier than Harry had ever seen him, thrumming with life. He stood slowly.

He would regret it. That was the point.

And it broke his heart.

Tom would never forgive him.

* * *

Tom Riddle was many things, but stupid was not and would never be one of them.

He knew Harry's side of the deal was vague, try instead of succeed…but he couldn't allow his terminology to be more precise, on the off chance that Harry's remaining morality would drown him in remorse and reverse the Horcrux.

If that was the case, he didn't want harm to befall Harry for something the boy couldn't actually help.

There was a good chance remorse was what Harry was planning…but, there was also a good chance that Harry's ability for the (overall useless, honestly, if you're going to be remorseful something, you just don't do it in the first place!) sentiment would be greatly hindered, to the extent that he couldn't summon the necessary regret to stitch his soul back together.

And if he could - if anyone could, it was Harry - well, he had plans for that too.

He suspected he would be doing editing of the spell, simply because he knew on some level Harry would resist the thought of what he was creating and so not kill in cold blood (even though Tom was sure he could) and with the editing of the spell, he could add in a constraints.

Most Horcruxes could flitter around possess the things around it, but with Harry's, he would lock the piece of soul within its container.

Therefore, even if Harry did feel remorse, his soul would be prevented from coming back to him.

The process of stitching a soul back together was quite often fatal anyway, so it was really a measure for his friend's own good.

Not being able to create more than one for himself was limiting, but it didn't cripple him.

Besides, soon enough he would have all eternity to find a better method of ensuring his and Harry's immortality. He'd have all the time in the world.

Of course, aging during that time would be a problem, but he was sure he could solve it…as the Master of Death? He smiled indulgently at the thought.

Lord Voldemort would be a great, renowned title…but Master of Death was better, and would be his own to keep in private. He'd kill Dumbledore for the wand (two birds with one stone) and track down the Invisibility Cloak.

Surely an all powerful wand could summon its sibling artefact?

Over all, he was extremely happy with how everything was working out.

Harry would be…unfortunately distressed, he was certain, but he'd meant it when he said Harry was strong. Did that Lovegood girl honestly think Harry was weak enough to break?

His golden boy had a will of iron, unyielding to anyone, including him. Harry would survive Horcruxes, and he would survive moving to the past. Tom was certain of it.

Harry had to survive, because Tom didn't know what he would do if he didn't.

He was a few corridors away when he felt it.

Pain, crippling pain.

His eyes widened, his feet halting. Not physical…he had no wound…mental.

_Harry_

_. _He almost sprinted back, before catching himself. Still not physical.

Emotional.

Harry's mind was in turmoil.

He staggered to sit, head in his hands, somewhat in awe. He wasn't sure if he'd ever felt Harry's emotions so strong, his Occlumency barriers were up and everything, so…what was wrong with him? What had happened?

He surely couldn't have got in too big a trouble or fight in two minutes…so it was the conversation they'd just had. Horcruxes.

This was Harry's reaction to their deal.

Nausea bubbled in his gut, his mind struggling to rationalise the sudden, foreign sense of sickness. He scrunched his fingers into his hair, breathing deeply.

It would pass, soon enough, and no one would be around to see how it was affecting him. Damn it.

His nails pricked blood in the palms of his hands, fisted so tightly.

Harry felt so much, it was incredible. Was this normal, or a Harry thing alone?

He blinked, his head pounding against the onslaught.

A second later, it was gone, a dull ache.  
Harry had regained his control, reeled his feelings back in and clamped them down in his own thoughts. He could breathe again.

He stood, shaky, half wondering if he should go back.

No.

He swallowed, brushed down his uniform, and carried on walking.

Surely Harry wouldn't break?

He would never let him break.

* * *

Cygnus Lestrange stared at the Owl swooping out the window, soon a mere speck on the distance. A shadow on the horizon.

He smiled with grim satisfaction.

Soon, Tom would be his, Potter would be gone, Voldemort would prize him above all others and Dumbledore would rue the day he ever thought to discard his value.

How could he not be happy?

_My Lord Voldemort,_

_ I can soon give you the date that Potter is outside of Hogwarts, and Tom's, protection._

_ Be ready, and await my owl. _

_Yours, your most faithful friend and follower,_

_Cygnus Lestrange. _

* * *

_A/N: Thank you very much for the reviews - onwards on the 3000 reviews, ja? 133 to go :) So if it pleases you (it pleases, me, Tom and Harry very much :P) keep 'em coming! Haha. _

_I thought I'd continue with my practice of updating as soon as I've finished writing the chapter because I personally hate waiting for fics to get updated, and, as always, so I hope you enjoyed the chapter. :D_

_ANNIVERSARY: Fate's Favourite is, on Tuesday, going to hit the anniversary of 'Fictionist has been writing it for two years.' As such, I feel we must celebrate. Anyone got any requests for a DD celebratory oneshot? Please send your ideas to me, cause I don't have a clue. _

_PS: It would be fabulous to have 3000 reviews for the anniversary ;)_


	132. Chapter 131

Chapter 131 (ANNIVERSARY!)

Voldemort studied the letter in his hands, impassively, excitement shadowing his thoughts.

This was…good.

Lestrange was still a fool, though. Honestly, did he think he would survive the ensuing consequences of this unscathed? Idiot. Before Harry, he'd never seemed quite so stupid, but he supposed Potter was, unfortunately, more attune to him and his variants than most people.

It was the Horcrux - nothing else. His lip curled in disgust.

_My Lord Voldemort…your friend…_did the repulsive child truly think that to hold an ounce of truth? Cygnus Lestrange was nothing to him, and so easy to manipulate that it was pathetic.

Even as he grew old, all he had to do for the man to do anything for him was to show the merest appreciation, tolerance or favour. It only proved the dangers and weaknesses of sentiment.

Still, the boy was useful for now, so he allowed the impudent address without scolding or punishment, even encouraging it to coax every last scrap out of Lestrange before he cut him down again. It was simply too amusing watching him shatter, just as he managed to begin fixing himself again.

Soon…Riddle had to be dealt with too, his younger counterpart was becoming all too troublesome. His army had lost a crippling amount of men, and it was only in taunt that the rest were spared from being hauled to the Ministry.

Rage burned in his heart.

He'd make Tom pay though, and this…development, would be the perfect way to deal with three problems at once. He would capture Potter when he left the safety of Hogwarts wards, use him against Tom to make the point of his superiority, break the bond linking their lives together, kill the Boy-who-lived and reign forevermore supreme with no one capable of challenging him, no prophecy child, and no ghosts of times he yearned to forget.

He folded the letter neatly, returning to his plans to free his followers from the grasp of the impotent ministry.

They were replaceable, every last one of them, but it would be too much of a concession and sign of weakness to allow the Ministry to keep them.

The Wizarding population were all still reeling from the loss of their Hospital, and soon enough, he would have the country on its knees.

A grim smile crossed his lips.

There was a tickle at the back of his thoughts.

_Potter._

He didn't think the child would have the gall to contact him in such a way again, through their connection, but it seemed he was wrong.

He contemplated ignoring it, but, ultimately, curiosity got the better of him.

[If I'm to be your regular therapist, I shall have to begin charging, you realise?]

* * *

Harry couldn't believe he was doing this again, but he couldn't help himself.

He had no other option, and so clenched his fists and searched out for the Dark Lord at the end of his mental link. He wasn't stupid, he didn't trust Tom not to plot around his Horcrux, to relentlessly trap him somehow in the decision.

Also, what if he couldn't feel remorse after? He couldn't take the risk of this…horrible thing going badly.

He felt sick.

[If I'm to be your regular therapist, I shall have to begin charging, you realise?]

Came the thought. Harry snorted, despite himself, despite the knife-twist of Voldemort giving such a Tom-like response.

[I assure you, if I had any desire for a therapist, which I don't, I wouldn't pick you if you were the last sentient thing on earth.]

[Such vitriolic words for one who so recently sought my council.]

[I have an offer for you.] He sent the thought abruptly, tiring of the small talk quickly. He didn't have time for it.

[And what makes you think I have any interest in negotiating with you?]

[Because you want me dead, and I what I'm offering, I daresay, may make that so far failing crusade easier for you.] There was a silence.

[My, my, have we finally driven you to suicide? I can't claim disappointment.]

He was hit by a barrage of the different ways he could achieve his death, and barely refrained his nausea of the graphicness with which Voldemort pictured a knife going through his stomach.

[You need a girlfriend, if this is what you fantasise about in your free time.]

He felt an immediate wave of foreign revulsion, and smirked.

[What is your offer?] came the response, tinged with fury and loathing.

Harry sobered instantly.

[There might come a point within the next four months when my disposition…changes. I want you to…if I turn on my friends and start acting psychotic and unstable or generally show a massive shift in personality…losing my morality, essentially…]

[Get to the point]

[If that happens, then I want you to take an oath that you'll kill me.]

Shock. Absolute shock.

Harry gained some vindictive gratification from so thoroughly surprising the other, even as his insides squirmed at the request. But…he wouldn't allow himself to spiral.

He couldn't become what he hated, and he knew Tom would never agree with this back up - he didn't even trust Tom to stop him from spiralling.

It was more than obvious that _Tom _had no problem with him losing his conscience, he'd most likely view it as an improvement. Improvement.

Sometimes it seemed Tom always wanted to change something about him…his morality, essentially. Yet, he wouldn't be himself without it, whatever Tom claimed?

Being a psychopath himself, the Slytherin Heir probably didn't understand how morals and ethics could be so grounding and fundamental to someone's character, as he couldn't imagine having any and the difference it made.

Hell, Tom probably genuinely thought he was doing him a favour! It just would have been nice to be good enough for one person as he was.

[What exactly is the situation here?]

[Will you take the oath or not?]

There was silence on the other hand, and, Harry held his breath.

It was twisted, so twisted and wrong, but he needed a yes...

[Take a death vow in turn that you will let me kill you, if the conditions apply, I'd suggest unbreakable, but that would require a bonder. ]

Harry blinked. Double ensured.

Perfect.

[I Harry James Potter vow that I will let Lord Voldemort kill me, if the aforementioned conditions of our deal - ergo, that I have undergone a huge personality shift, turned against my friends and abandoned my morality - so mote it be.]

There was a pause. His head was pounding from this prolonged contact, copper in his mouth.

[I Lord Voldemort vow to kill Harry Potter if he undergoes a huge personality shift, turns against his friends and/or abandons his morality. So mote it be.]

Then the connection abruptly cut.

* * *

Tom sat down to dinner, feeling thoroughly pleased with how this day had gone. He'd got Harry to agree to the Horcrux, to life, and felt thus secure in continuing his work on the time spell.

A productive day, all in all.

He graciously ignored the twinges and occasional bursts of emotion coming from Harry. It wasn't…this was just how Harry worked.

He raged and struggled and fought on every single thing, exhausting himself into submission…or the closest he got to it, anyway. When he had a Horcrux, himself, he was sure all Harry's doubts would slip away.

He'd be happier.

Tom was freeing him.

It wasn't like the other wouldn't find something else to challenge him, when it was no longer debates about the ethics of his plans. It wasn't like Harry would suddenly become amenable to every little thing. Did it?

His eyes tightened with annoyance.

What was he even thinking these thoughts? He wasn't going to tell Harry _not_ to go through with it. He wanted this. Of course he did. It was ridiculous that he should have any qualms on the matter.

Harry would be immortal.

It wasn't like he wouldn't have time to work out any potential glitches, and, in eternal life, even if Harry did flee in sulk and rage, he'd have to come back eventually.

Besides, if Harry left, he would just revel in the challenge of hunting him down, and then making sure he stayed put. Golden Boy would no doubt make a fascinating prisoner, if it came to that.

Naturally, he'd prefer it didn't, but if he did, it would be…an interesting experiment. He speared his jacket potato thoughtfully.

"What are you thinking about?"

Harry.

He glanced sideways at the question, amused at the reaction he'd get if he _did _reply brutally honestly regarding his thought tangent. He suppressed a smile, instead shaking his head as if in dismissal.

"Just contemplating the future," he said, easily. Harry's eyebrows arched with curiosity.

"Sounds ominous."

That time he did smirk, noting the shift in his friend's posture, to something more wary.

More people were filing into the Great Hall in great gaggles, bunches and crowds. It was why he always came either early, or late, to avoid most of them.

Zevi was seated opposite Harry, more because he knew the two got on well then any hierarchical meaning for once, Alphard was therefore seating opposite him, and then Abraxas was on his left, and Draco - unfortunately - was next to his grandfather.

Harry of course, was on his right.

Lestrange approached the table, trying to meet his gaze, but he simply made a minute gesture that the girl, Daphne Greengrass, next to Alphard shift along slightly to make space.

He glanced at Harry.

The boy tensed almost imperceptibly, but gave no other acknowledgement. Abraxas, Zevi and Alphard stared at him, but he knew they wouldn't dare comment on the change of arrangements.

Lestrange looked unbelievably smug; it was enough to make Tom want to crush him like an annoying bug. He looked about to say something, only to stop as a black hawk dove once more for their table. He dismissed the inner circle drama instantly, casting several wards, before catching the letter. Harry had definitely gone still now, and it was noticeable.

"Is that his retaliation?"

He was probably worried someone else was dead or butchered.

He slit the envelope, ignoring the attention of the Staff table as ever, reading silently. Parseltongue.

_Ask Harry about the deal he just made with me, child. Check. _

* * *

Hermione kept a careful eye on the Slytherin table.

It seemed, if one didn't, that they missed a lot. Like a teacher's _head_ being sent in a parcel. Bile clawed up her throat at the thought.

It made it a little harder to keep track of everything going on at the Gryffindor Table, but she was rewarded with the instant knowledge that something was wrong, a few seconds before it happened.

A black hawk swooped down, Voldemort's owl - another murder? Who was the letter for, Harry or Tom? - and Riddle picked it up after a moment, reading it. She was too far away to see his expression, but even from a distance it suddenly felt as if the hair on her arms had rose. She shivered.

He'd gone completely still, frozen, and Harry's figure was radiating with concern. Her best friend's hand reached for the letter when Tom remained seemingly unresponsive, and then Tom _did _snap into action.

He caught Harry's arm in what had to be a painful grip, saying - or, rather - hissing something. Harry's hand retracted, wrenching out of the other's grip, his stance abruptly defensive.

They exchanged a few more words, the Slytherins around them freezing too, as if caught in a fight between two wild animals, and scared to draw attentions to themselves lest they bring harm unto their own persons.

Harry made an aggravated motion with his hands, slamming his cutlery down on the table, before exiting the hall. Riddle, without hesitation, took after him, but something about it suggesting it wasn't a mutual departure.

Harry had been looking to seek isolation, Tom was…continuing the conflict. The fight.

"Come on," Ron muttered, having evidently been watching too, his warm eyes alit with worry.

"We shouldn't-" she began.

"_C'mon_," he insisted, standing. Trying to act casual, and not sure if she was succeeding, she rose with him. They followed.

"We really shouldn't be eavesdropping like this, it's not right-" she started again.

"Do you want to find out what they do when they sneak off like that or not?" he asked. "You did say you were curious. Anyway, Harry might need our help, do you honestly _trust _Riddle? We can't help him if we don't know what's wrong."

"Harry would like privacy," she whispered, but, to her enormous guilt, she found herself frozen on the spot as Tom caught up with Harry, seizing his arm to pull him to an angry and violent halt.

For a moment, she wondered why they, normally so careful - paranoid even - hadn't taken this to a locked, warded and soundproofed classroom as was custom. It must have been the heat of the moment, coupled with the expectation that everyone was at dinner. It wasn't like the corridor wasn't empty and off the beaten track.

What happened next was nearly too fast to follow, but it appeared Harry had twisted in the grip, throwing Tom backwards into the wall besides them, hands clenched furiously on the front of his shirt a moment later.

"Leave it," he hissed. "I'm not telling you, so just let it go."

Riddle's hand closed around Harry's wrists, agitated in comparison to the calmness of his voice.

"Careful, darling…pinning me up against walls like that, people might get the wrong impression." The tone was infinitely mocking, with an edge of mimicry that made her wonder even more strongly as to the content of their previous conversations. Harry's jaw clenched, but he didn't let go.

"I mean it-" he began.

"-Besides, aren't you supposed to be the masochistic one out of the two of us?" Riddle continued, interrupting smoothly. "Interesting to see you so feisty though, maybe we could play with that sometime, but, over all, I think I infinitely prefer it like _this."_

And then the roles were reversed, their bodies spinning, Harry's back hitting the hard surface with an audible smack, the breath knocked out of his lungs.

She realised, for perhaps the first time as Tom was normally the one tugging Harry around, that, in terms of physical strength, they were very evenly matched.

Harry could probably spin them around again just as easily, on that strength, except that while his grip had been on Riddle's shirt, Tom's right hand was clamped down on her best friend's shoulder, his left on Harry's throat. Harry's grip had been out of anger, supposed to be somewhat temporary when it was made…this was designed to hold like chains.

In the back of her mind, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if Harry was fully aware of the even match, and what he would have to do to reciprocate the gesture.

The difference between them seemed to be that Harry was more guarded about getting so close and about social boundaries, less willing to cause serious damage, while Riddle clearly didn't care in the slightest.

She exchanged a look with Ron, who seemed simultaneously planted to the spot.

This…wasn't what she had expected.

Sure, in public the two of them were rather tactile and intense, she knew now that their public demeanours were nothing - _nothing - _compared to this. In company, they seemed to orbit each other, shifting instinctually as if by gravitational balance, but maintaining a degree of awareness to the surroundings.

This…this was different.

They were both single-mindedly focussed, and touches that were before mildly restraining had gained a new intimacy. How badly in denial was Harry when he said he didn't fancy Tom?

Maybe he wasn't _gay _so much as interested in this one person who was, on the off chance, irrelevantly, male? On the other hand, if she didn't already think they were in love with each other…in the context of Tom and Harry, maybe many would interpret this physical closeness to be another power play?

Obviously, it was another level for them to fight on, and for either one to be physically dominant stripped the other of some level of control, and hence, it was multilayered. Even if it was attraction, it wasn't that alone. It was too aggressive and demanding.

Harry glared.

"Once again you seeming to be making the fundamental mistake that you're in charge of me," he said coolly. "It's none of your business."

"None of my business?" Riddle's grip tightened. "I dare say, sweetheart, if you're making deals with _my _future counterpart, that the content of such deals is very much my business…Voldemort seems to think so."

"Voldemort likes causing trouble."

"What in Salazar's name did you promise him?" Tom snapped, appearing to lose patience.

"I'm not telling you," Harry returned, slowly and clearly. "Get your hands off me."

"Why?" Riddle's voice switched abruptly to a purr, his grip changing. "In case people think we're a couple? More so than they already do? Why does that thought make you so uncomfortable, _Harry_, it's not like the media don't print other untruths about you on a regular basis…what is it about this that…flusters you so?"

"That tactic isn't going to work," her best friend said, but he'd gone rigid. If she noticed that, she knew Riddle had too.

"What deal did you make with Voldemort?"

"Not telling." Harry shifted against the hold, and a short struggle ensued, brought to a cold end as Riddle, well, essentially cheated, by using the mark.

Tom's lips curved.

"Hmm, stubborn," the Slytherin Heir murmured, making a tisking sound. "But, you know, we can stand here until dinner is over, if it suits you…does it suit you, Harry? Are you enjoying this? I mean, we already established the thrill you get from-"

A hiss, savage, in response.

"-Oh, I do _love _it when you talk parseltongue, but you might have to clarify what you mean… will I stop it? Stop what, Harry? What am I doing to you?"

She didn't know how Tom dared to keep pushing, Harry's magic was boiling, his temper visible in his dangerous, icy gaze. There was a silence.

"What, no witty repartee, darling? Your tongue is normally far more…engaging."

Harry's expression changed, suddenly smiling in a far too sweet manner for it to be sincere.

"Careful, Tom, at this rate people might start believing you have a heart capable of human feeling and desires. You wouldn't want that, and, honestly, I thought you had a better sense of self control than this, more decorum, but perhaps I was wrong."

Riddle's eyes narrowed dangerously.

Like weakness, implications of a lack of control seemed to come from a similar weaponry, just as cutting. Tom's hands dropped, but he didn't step back, a considering expression on his face.

"Note to self, don't presume to show concern for my reckless best friend, even if he habitually expresses a tendency towards suicidal plans and schemes."

"T-"

"You know, you really should make up your mind…do you want me to show my 'humanity' and care, like you so claim, or am I to be an emotionless shell when my thoughts conflict with what's convenient for you?"

"Well, I don't know, I suppose it depends on whether you plan on showing me your actual emotions, or if you're simply using your considerable acting skills to manipulate the outcome you want," Harry replied, without missing a beat.

They stared at each for a moment, both unyielding. She was actually somewhat amazed that they'd lasted this long, as they apparently showed no desire to compromise on any tiny thing. They were a very love/hate couple…pair…duo…couple.

She didn't care what Harry said, they were clearly a couple!

"You make a deal so soon after ours," Tom's voice had grown more clinical, games removed. "Making me believe that you are attempting to counter your agreement with me, it has been perfectly evident that you're not best pleased by my plans. You've already thought of remorse as a method, no doubt, as you would have stalled negotiations if you didn't see at least one loophole on something you're so dubious about. There are, frankly, no other loopholes as I would have otherwise covered them, implying this deal is a back up if your current loophole fails you."

They were eyeing each other warily, intently, doing the shifting thing without their awareness.

She couldn't help but admire how quickly Riddle's mind was working, he was like - like Sherlock Holmes or something! No, Moriarty, more like. Moriarty was the evil one, the criminal mastermind.

He was Moriarty…but did that make Harry Sherlock? That seemed a bit off, not because her best friend was stupid, but, and she felt horrible thinking this, he'd never been particularly intellectually brilliant either.

Merlin to Tom's Mordred?

"Just let it go," Harry said, again, but quieter this time.

"You're reckless, and, much like me, you can't stand losing. This, coupled with your passive desire for suicide -" Harry appeared about the protest this, but Tom didn't allow room for the interruption - "and the fact that all Voldemort wants from you is your _death_ makes me incredibly worried about your deal, and your supposed solution."

Hermione's eyes widened at the implication. Oh no.

Harry looked away, and that was confirmation more than anything he could say, and, for a split second while her best friend's attention was elsewhere, she saw Riddle seem to deflate and sag into himself.

"I sincerely hope I'm wrong, though I highly doubt it as I'm always right." There was no sign of the lapse when Harry looked back, only that deadly expression. "I would hazard a guess that Voldemort must be alive for your back up to come into fruition…so I'll assure you now that the next time the two of us shall meet that he is dead. Puts a bit of a spanner into _your _overarching plan for this whole mess, but, oh well, you probably shouldn't have made such a stupid deal in the first place."

Tom backed up, but Harry didn't move, staring at the Slytherin Heir.

"I won't forgive you."

"I don't need you to forgive me, I just need you to stay."

Riddle swept off without another word.

* * *

Lestrange unravelled the piece of paper, keeping a discreet eye out on everything around him

_We go to Gringotts on the Friday, two days from now.  
Be ready. _

* * *

_A/N: So, um, disappointingly fillery for my two year anniversary. If it makes you feel better, I plan on doing a DD special once I have a soilid idea for one :/_

_Thanks so much for all the amazing reviews and support you've given :D Your feedback rocks my world!  
90 reviews to go for 3000? *fingers crossed.*_

Much love and affection,

The Fictionist.


	133. Chapter 132

Chapter 132:

"Tom - Tom Riddle!"He stopped at the unwelcome call, intoned with an uncharacteristic sharpness.

"Miss Lovegood," he said coolly, turning. She came to a stop before him, her eyes wide and beseeching.

"You can't do it - you can't!" she protested. He stared at her, vaguely repulsed.

"Can't do what?" he demanded. "What's _wrong _with you?" He shook his head dismissively, turning away from her. Abraxas shot the girl a bewildered, marginally contemptuous look, following after him.

"Harry," she whispered. "You can't do that to Harry. You're killing him."

He stopped, frozen for a few seconds, before he turned again, slowly.

"Go on," he informed Malfoy. "I'll be there momentarily."

Abraxas nodded, making no comment, as was proper. Harry would have made a comment, but the boy had, unfortunately, insisted he would spend the day with his Gryffindor friends.

Ugh, he hated them.

Granger at least possessed a modicum of intelligence, but ginger had no redeeming qualities that he had come across.

"What do you know of Harry?" he demanded, dangerously. Blue orbs shimmered with the barest veil of tears.

"I know what you plan to make him do," she murmured. "And you can't go through with it, you mustn't!"

Again, with the uncanny knowledge of things she shouldn't and couldn't possibly know.

"Did Harry tell you?" he asked, not able to comprehend that the ex Gryffindor would. Besides, they both liked their privacy, and…

"No," she smiled at him, thinly, too serious. "Of course he didn't. I just…know."

"How?"

"I have my ways, you have yours," she waved a hand, as if sweeping the matter aside as irrelevant. "You must promise me you won't force him to make one."

He stiffened. It was one thing for personal plans to be alluded to, and another to hear a more direct reference to Horcruxes coming from the lips of this bizarre young Ravenclaw. Still.

"I shall promise no such thing, and it's not your business besides. Good day, Miss Lovegood."

Her hand shot out as he turned once more, grabbing his arm with a surprising strength for someone seemingly so dainty and whimsical.

"_Please_," she begged. "He wouldn't be the same - it would destroy him, you must know that-"

"What is your obsession with interfering with mine and Harry's relationship?" he hissed. She blinked at him, earnest and so very annoying.

"Harry's my friend, I don't want to see him hurt," she replied, a stubborn edge to her tone, her chin jutting out with defiance, before growing softer. "You care about him, I know you do, I told you not to break him and then you-"

"He's strong, I wouldn't give him anything he couldn't handle. Damn it, girl, I'm not stupid!"

"Then stop acting stupid," she growled, her frustration at odds with the lightness of her voice. "Stop denying how much this hurts him, it's clear as day - you must be able to see it in his eyes? He hates this, and when it's done, the guilt will eat him up and devour him whole and you won't be able to fix him!"

"If you know my plans so well, you'll know this is non-negotiable, so refrain from wasting my time," he snapped. "Let go of me, or I will remove your hands myself."

Her hands dropped, and, gaze hard and frosted, he spun sharply and strode away down the corridor, only to pause for a second time at her call.

"You're scared he'll die, that he'll leave you…but to force him to do this is pushing him away-"

"I'm not forcing him to do anything he hasn't agreed to-"

"And I'm sure he had so much choice in the decision," she said flatly. "Pinning someone to agreement is not the same as a willing offer, and you know it!"

"Oh, I know," he drawled, "I just don't care. It's for his own good."

She stared at him, before running to catch up, a lilt of skip still present.

"There must be another way," she murmured, desperate.

"There is no other way, leave me be. I have better things to be doing to catering to a little girl's sudden alarming heroine streak."

"The Master of Death could prevent his death," she said, quietly. He studied her clinically, expression carefully composed.

"Why do you care so much?"

"Because Harry is lovely, and kind and _noble_ and deserves better than to have his soul, so beautiful and pure, be butchered, especially by someone who's supposed to be his friend. I-he _won't_be the same, on some level you know that. You'll regret this decision for the rest of your life."

"I have little time for hunting Hallows," he replied, with marginally less bite than before. "Maybe later."  
After Harry had a Horcrux.

"If he goes too long without it, he won't have enough left to take it back, and you won't be able to take back the tragedy either."

He narrowed his eyes, trying to squash the doubts that relentlessly refused to leave him. He wouldn't be having this problem if it was anyone but Harry, but then, if it was another he would hardly offer them immortality.

"Just think about it," she whispered. "For his sake."

Then she was gone.

* * *

Harry met Lestrange with cold eyes, not caring to speak a word. This was business.

"You know," the irritating man said, not quite meeting his gaze. "You haven't conceded anything to keep me from telling Tom everything. He'd stop you, wouldn't he? It would hardly be my fault…"

"You know our deal?" Harry smiled, icily. "Doesn't have an expiration date, does it? I could have you abandoned again by the time the week was out, if it so involved frequent positive attention before that."

Lestrange glared at him, fearfully.

"Fine, come on then. What is it that you're looking for anyway?"

"None of your concern," he replied promptly. He kept a careful eye to make sure that people were around…alone was a matter of perspective anyway…wasn't it? He had Tom and Voldemort attached by a mental connection, technically, he was never alone.

"So we're just going to stand and walk in silence, then?"

Harry didn't bother responding. He had no desire to talk to Lestrange.

Soon, they arrived at Diagon Alley, taking the Knight Bus from the outskirts of the school grounds. He gained some comfort from the familiar streets, but not much.

He was, in a manner of speaking, robbing Gringotts. It was daunting.

He didn't trust the other boy an inch either.

"You know," the slimeball began again, seemingly incapable of keeping quiet.

"Probably," he interrupted. Lestrange's jaw clenched.

"He'll get bored of you, he gets bored of everyone eventually. He drains them dry and pushes until he founds all the blackest parts of you, then he'll discard you because you're not shiny and new anymore. It's what he does. You're only good as long as you're useful or interesting."

"You really are remarkable, Cygnus," Harry sighed. "But the remarkable thing is how you somehow manage to project your own situation on everyone around you as if their lives were as pathetic and pitiful as yours. Pray, tell, where is it you learned how to be so incredibly obnoxious?"

"One day I'll make you regret the insults you pay me," Lestrange snarled, face twisting from its split-second confusion. "You are exceedingly lucky you have Tom watching your back for now, not that you deserve it, but you can mark my words that when he's through with you, I'll be waiting."

"Then you'll be waiting a long time." Literally. Forever. Horcruxes. He repressed a shudder and flinch, nausea rising.

"You make me sick."

"The feeling is entirely mutual, so do stop torturing me with your voice, the previous silence was much preferable," he replied coolly. Lestrange seethed.

"I don't understand what he sees in you."

Harry could feel his temper growing dangerously close to fraying.

"I don't know," he replied casually. "M

aybe it's my witty conversation, my charming good looks, the fact that unlike you, I'm not a clingy, needy little twit." "Not clingy? Please, you're all over him like some cheap whore! You're arrogant, insolent-"

"As opposed to a discarded doormat?"

Lestrange's eyes closed briefly. Harry felt a vindictive streak of cruelness possess him, spurned by rage and hurt.

"Ah, bless, you're not going to cry again, are you?"

"Shut it, Evans." Lestrange's tone was wild with fury, but contained, smaller. "Let's just get this over with."

Finally, an opinion they could agree on.

* * *

Hermione paused, stopping at the sight of Tom Riddle.

A blush rose unbidden from her skin, at the sheer intimacy she'd seen from that now so stoic figure, only two days ago. It almost felt odd to face him after that, she felt like she'd walked in and intruded on something so private and personal that it felt uncomfortable to watch it.

She'd come to the conclusion that watching Harry and Tom at such an intense, clashing level was like watching a supernova - too bright to be witnessed for too long, immensely dangerous in its blistering heat and force, beautiful and mesmerising, something that, if you got in its way, burned and destroyed you without remorse.

She'd seen Harry that morning, and though neither of them had quite plucked up the courage to admit to their eavesdropping, it had been somewhat awkward.

The point was that he'd asked them to cover for him - apparently he had something that needed doing, preferably without Tom's knowledge.

Still flustered, they'd both agreed, with the promise that he would fill them in when he got back, and that it wasn't terribly dangerous.

The problem with that was the way Riddle's eyes had snapped over to them, most likely seeking Harry out even if he was supposedly having a 'Gryffindor day.'

Harry, obviously, wasn't with them.

The Slytherin Heir made his way over, features smooth, but with a dark tint to his appraisal.

"Where's Harry?" he asked, not even bothering with a greeting.

She supposed the only reason they ranked on his scale of awareness in any significant way at all was because they were best friends with Harry.

She exchanged a look with Ron, trying not to show her panic.

"He just went to get something from the Gryffindor Tower," Ron said, smiling.

"His stuff is in Slytherin," Riddle replied, the dark tint growing more prominent.

"No, most of his stuff is," Ron disagreed. "He left some things with us."

She was pleasantly surprised, as horrible as it sounded, that he managed to lie so well in the face of Riddle's scrutiny, and give plausible responses.

It was easy to freeze under the study of the young Dark Lord, like a mouse caught beneath a cat.

"And he needs that 'stuff' desperately?" Tom enquired.

"I assume so, or maybe he was just taking the opportunity to visit, he did spend four years there. I didn't ask as I don't obsess over every single one of his actions like a jealous boyfriend," Hermione replied tartly.

His attention switched to her, his eyebrows raising slightly. She almost blanched as she realised what she'd just insinuated about his behaviour, but steeled her courage and refused to take it back.

It was true. He did sound jealous and obsessive.

"That sounds reasonable," he said, calmly. She almost sagged in relief. "Now what's the truth?"

Damn. He folded his arms, magic crackling.

"I can tell when people lie to me, and wouldn't suggest you attempt it again. Where. Is. Harry?"

"I have no idea," she replied honestly. His eyes narrowed, and he surveyed the two of them critically.

"He asked you to cover for him, probably on the premise that he wasn't doing something stupid. Note to the supposed best friends, _Harry lies, _especially when he's up to something stupid and he say where he was going?"

Hermione was alarmed to note the stressed strain that had entered his otherwise neutral tone.

She debated over lying again, painfully aware of the deadly gleam hidden behind his poised surface.

The boy before her might look like a handsome, model student…but he was lethal. He was the teenaged Dark Lord.

"He didn't say," she said quietly, ignoring Ron's look of outrage. "He's not really in trouble, is he? He wouldn't-"

"It's _Harry_," Tom returned. "He would. Salazar, when did you last see him?" the other demanded menacingly.

"This morning."

"Hermione!" Ron snapped. Tom rounded on her boyfriend.

"Your best friend had a habit of getting himself into trouble when he's alone for five minutes, what do you…Lestrange." Riddle stopped abruptly, head tilting with thought, expression frozen, disregarding Ron entirely.

He hissed something, and somehow, she strongly suspected he was swearing under his breath. He spun, turning on his posse of Slytherins, who had followed their lord over, remaining respectfully quiet.

"Has anyone seen Lestrange?"

There was a silence from the Slytherins.

"I saw him this afternoon," Prince offered, after a moment. "At lunch."

Riddle looked back at the two of them sharply.

"We last saw Harry at lunch," she replied, answering the unasked question. Ron looked about to tear his hair out.

"Harry trusted us Hermione! Why are you talking to him?" he whispered harshly. Riddle's jaw was clenched.

"Harry trusted you with what?" he wasn't looking at Ron, his attention focussed solely on her and Merlin, it was so intimidating and she didn't view herself as easily spooked.

"He asked us to cover for him," she said, ignoring the angry growl from Ron.

"I'll presume from me, judging by your rather panicked expressions when I approached you," Tom said, not seeming to be speaking to them so much, as to himself.

Really, he was only bouncing ideas at them to look at things in different ways and gather evidence. She should have probably been more offensive, but it was rather fascinating watching his mind work.

"Which means he was doing something he either doesn't want me to know about, that I won't agree with, or won't. Probably his plan then…he's feeling the pressure of our impeding deadline."

Hermione almost asked what this plan and deadline exactly was, even though she sensed that she really didn't want to know. Harry would tell them.

"Lestrange is linked into this…he needed Lestrange for something, made some type of bargain…what does Lestrange have that Harry needs?"

"Nothing," Alphard muttered, but it was very softly, timidly, despite the bolster of the tone. Riddle ignored the comment but for a withering expression that had Black cowering.

Hermione thought.

Power, no. Harry, by all accounts, had more influence then Lestrange as well as more magical talent. It had to be something Harry could only get from Lestrange, as otherwise HArry wouldn't work with him, it was more than clear that they had no love lost for each other.

What could Harry only get from Lestrange?

He'd been talking about finding magical objects…a secure place for keeping magical objects.

She glanced at Ron, and something about his expression told her he'd already worked this out, but was being stubbornly silent. She probably shouldn't have felt so upset that he'd worked it out before her…the only thing he trumped her knowledge tended to be things about the Wizarding world itself…oh.

"Gringotts." The words were out before they'd fully formed, and Tom spoke the same observation simultaneously

. On some level, she was smug about that, despite her worry. Ron's mouth twisted. Tom ignored them without further comment, heading towards the entrance hall, and her boyfriend hurried after him.

"Have you ever considered that he might not want you there?" Ron demanded angrily, flushed, ducking into Riddle's way. "You never give him any space."

She suspected that he'd suddenly had a flash back to how little space could be between them and she needed to _stop _thinking about that. Riddle's eyebrows arched.

"I considered it," he said lightly. "Then I promptly discarded it because I have no tolerance for limitations. Move."

"Or what?" Ron dared.

"Or I'll hex your balls off," Malfoy snapped, drawing his wand along with the rest of the Slytherins. "For Salazar's sake Weasel, your best friend is liable to be in trouble and you take now to be a good time to act like a stubborn idiot? Well, I suppose the latter was always true, but the first part is not a complimentary addition."

"It's called loyalty-"

"It's called intelligence," Zevi interrupted, eyes narrowed.

For a moment, Hermione feared it was to degenerate into a full out brawl, then Lestrange came running in, face white.

Riddle shoved Ron aside without a seconds thought, meeting the other boy, a wand sliding almost immediately under his chin, hand on his collar, choking.

"Where's Harry? What happened?"

* * *

Harry wondered back out the cart again, relieved to find Lestrange hadn't tried to lock him in a vault or have him caught as a thief or anything.

Everything had gone smoothly. He tucked the Horcrux - Hufflepuff's Cup, and he couldn't decide if that was a good or bad one to have got, as now it left two unknowns - into a heavily warded bag.

He'd ensured only he could open it, just in case. Lestrange had eyed him suspiciously, looking very much like he wanted to comment.

Thankfully, he had inflicted Harry further by following through with this desire.

He was grateful it had worked out, it had only been a hunch, after all…a smile tugged grimly at his lips.

He should have known it was too good to last.

Just as he was entering Diagon again, there were several cracks around him. Death Eaters.

On instinct alone he dodged the stunner Lestrange had sent close range at him, knocking several of his opponents out with the same movement with several sharp slashes of his wand.

Freaking Lestrange!

A mind blowing pain shot through his scar, and several more apparation cracks were head.

Then he was duelling, fiercely, with Voldemort.

It would have gone okay if he was just duelling Voldemort, but the other masked figures were all shooting spells at him too.

He was duelling Voldemort and his inner circle Death Eaters simultaneously.

Of course he'd lose, he wasn't superman!

That didn't stop the bitterness and shame that crept across his mind as the world went black, countered only by his satisfaction of having taken half the enemy down with him.

He knew nothing more.

* * *

A/N: So, this was supposed to be up yesterday, but FF Login was playing up. Sorry about that. Next chapter should be up soon cause I actually like that one, and this one was so hard to write. Ugh.

Thank you so much for all the reviews and support :) I feel very loved and honoured!  
50 more (approx) for 3000. I still need a solid idea for the DD anniversary oneshot, feel free to make requests.


	134. Chapter 133

Chapter 133:

Harry awoke to an instant awareness of his situation.

Oh _shit. _

His limbs felt heavy, and he tugged experimentally at his arms. Tied. Behind his back. Icy metal digging into his wrists.

Fabulous.

He blinked to try and clear the black spots in his vision, rolling his head to click out his stiff joints. The Locket was still around his neck. That was one good thing.

The cup…still in his inside pocket, he could feel it pressing against his heart.

He could taste blood on his lips. Cold beneath him. He'd been in many crappy situations, otherwise he was sure he'd have been panicking more. He was scared - terrified - certainly, and he wanted to throttle Lestrange until the twit gurgled on his own blood, but other than that…he took a deep calming breath.

Now was not the ideal time to lose his head…literally or figuratively.

"Awake, I see," a voice drawled. Female. Another Lestrange…at least this one was a Black originally. Bellatrix. His unease inched up a notch.

"Great deduction skills," he remarked, after a failed first attempt at speech. His mouth was dry. Knocked out cotton-wool feeling. Ugh. "I would have assumed most people slept with their eyes open. Where's your master? Not part the welcoming committee? I'm hurt."

She laughed delightedly, crazily.

"You've got quite the mouth on you, don't you, _Harry?"_

"It's one of my many talents," he replied reservedly. "So, what's the gig here? Voldemort assign you as my jailer because he got sick of looking at your face?"

Her eyes glittered manically, and she rose from the chair she was sitting in, at the corner of what looked to be a dungeon, swaggering over to him, pouting.

"Now, really, that's no way for a young man to treat a lady, your parents should have taught you better…oh wait…never mind that. Guess I'll have to teach you instead, won't I? Huh." The tip of her wand stroked down the side of his face. He would have shifted back if his pride, or constraints, allowed it. "You don't think I'm beautiful?"

He surveyed her neutrally, refusing to show how frightened he really was. She would have been beautiful once, darkly stunning…now…Azkaban had withered her.

"I don't think the Dementors make a good beauty routine," he replied, somewhat diplomatically. It bordered the lines of terrible insult to her deteriorated looks, and served to suggest that she may have been beautiful once. She considered him.

"Quite the little Slytherin, aren't you darling?"

"Don't call me darling," the words slipped out automatically.

"Aww, you're just _adorable_," she crooned. He gritted his teeth, willing himself to maintain his composure. Bitch was calling him adorable now, this was freaking surreal! Getting caught by Voldemort he'd kind of imagined there to be more in the way of torture. "Rather handsome too…I'm sure I'll be the envy of many a girl to have the great hero wrapped before me in chains."

She kissed his head with a mocking 'mwaa.'

He flinched back, despite himself, flushing at the insinuation, embarrassed. Torture sounded preferable. She smiled wickedly at his unnerved, flustered reaction.

"Don't you have a husband? Where's he?" Harry asked, abruptly, both to change the subject and to try and gain more information.

Where was Voldemort? As odd as it sounded, he'd expected the bastard to be here already. It was making his nervous. More nervous than being caught by his greatest enemies normally made a person.

"Ah, you play for the other team don't you, I forgot…" she said, shaking her head with seeming disappointment. "You were with your delicious looking boyfriend at the ministry…Tom, was it?"

"Considering I'm sixteen and you're old enough to be my mother - though, thankfully, you're not - the one track mind you're showing is highly disturbing," he replied flatly. She laughed again, wildly.

"You don't want to talk about _Tom _with me?"

No, he didn't particularly want to discuss him, especially not with her. He studied her coldly

."What are you going to do with me?" he demanded, when the laughter stopped. "Am I to be kept a prisoner forever?"

"No, sadly I'm not allowed to keep you," she pulled an over-exaggerated mournful face. "We are waiting."

"For what?" he asked, his unease growing further.

"Tom, of course," came another voice. Voldemort.

The Dark Lord strode in, robes billowing, a large snake entwined around his shoulders. The snake. There was something about the snake. He could feel it, and its eyes fixed on him.

Bellatrix immediately backed off from him, lowering into a bow. It felt somewhat jarring to see the witch slip into such submission, as much as he didn't like her.

He turned his attention to Voldemort, noticing that the wand the man was twirling was his own. A taunt. A statement to remind him of how vulnerable he truly was right now. He swallowed, inaudibly, unable to prevent himself from tensing.

"Crucio."

The curse hit him for no apparent reason…(but when did it ever have a logical one?) and he twisted, consumed by it. He didn't know how long it lasted.

Could forever be crammed into so small a space? It felt like forever. The torture cut just as he thought he could take it no longer, and he slumped, shivering and panting regardless of how composed he wished to appear.

He flicked his eyes up defiantly to meet scarlet. _Bastard. _Voldemort had tortured him with his holly and phoenix feather…how did that even work? It was screwed up.

He sincerely hoped the wand hadn't transferred its allegiance. Then, he realised it couldn't have, for, unless Voldemort had been going easy on him, that hadn't been as painful as he remembered. And he remembered vividly.

It was still horrible, but considering how much pain the Dark Lord could inflict…Bellatrix watched avidly, no pity or mercy or compassion in her eyes outside of excitement and sick pleasure. Psychopath. She had to be.

So he was tied up in a room with not one, but two psychopaths…great. He supposed he'd been here before, with Marvolo and Tom, but this was infinitely worse because Tom wasn't, despite how he could act at times, out to kill him or seriously harm him.

Of that, at least, he was certain.

"Hello Harry, so glad that you could join us," Voldemort greeted softly.

"Trixie implied the same welcome," Harry replied flippantly, "so I wonder why the service isn't more hospitable."

Voldemort's eyes flashed, but Bellatrix looked as if it hadn't annoyed her lord, that she would have simply laughed at him again. One to be wary of, that much was clear.

Harry was brought back to the other's previous words, blood curdling.

"What do you mean we're waiting for Tom? The intelligence you esteem so highly has clearly gone down if you've told him where to find us."

"No," Voldemort murmured, smiling a twisted smile. "I haven't told him, and nor shall you through that link of yours, as I dare say you want to keep him out of my way."

It wasn't a question, or even a jeer, just fact. No, he didn't want Tom near Voldemort, and so wouldn't tell Tom - and thus, anyone else as Tom was his only link to the outside world - where he was. He narrowed his eyes, waiting for further explanation. Voldemort would explain, he always did, so convinced of his brilliance. The man loved to gloat, as Tom did, but Tom was more judicious with his smugness.

"You see," Voldemort continued, softly, predictably, playing with the wand. "As much as I would dearly love to kill you, you still have that pesky life bond on you."

Right. His life was tied to Tom's, and thus, in a manner of speaking, Voldemort's.

"You think you can persuade him to take it off?" Harry asked, flatly, dread curling in his stomach. Voldemort smirked.

"No, but I think you can. Shall we send him a message?"

* * *

Tom could feel fury boiling in his blood, fury and so many emotions he wasn't sure he was capable of feeling so strongly.

"V-Voldemort took him?" Granger and turned ashen, Weasley green. His attention seemed to narrow onto a single, dark point, like tunnel vision.

_Voldemort had Harry. _

Ignoring any and all attempts to communicate with him, he searched his mind for the link with Harry. It was there, conscious, but blocked off. Harry was using Occlumency.

Inconvenient.

He would have tried pushing through the barriers to talk to him, but he didn't know the situation in enough detail. It could do more harm than good.

Harry wouldn't be killed anyway, they still had the life bond between them. He paced manically on the spot, trying to plan his way around this, hating the helplessness he could feel burning like fire in his veins.

Okay.

Where were Voldemort's strongholds. Malfoy manor? Too obvious. The man must know that would be the first place he thought of, as that was where they'd met to talk…where he had found out about the Prophecy. Not Malfoy manor. Riddle House? Again, obvious. Voldemort knew well enough how he thought. He needed to think.

"Everyone _shut up_," he hissed, viciously, at the panicked babble around him. "I need to think and your mindless hysteria is lowering my IQ."

Blessed silence.

He closed his eyes, sitting down, thinking.

They had a life bond. Harry wouldn't be harmed. But Voldemort must know if he knew where he was, that he would come and get him. A random location then. He had no leads.

But Voldemort couldn't kill Harry, as he so wished, when the life bond was still formed, even if it was still in a temporary stage.

Therefore, he needed Tom to retract the bond from his side. Voldemort would contact him. His eyes snapped open again at the thought.

A black owl swooped in through the window.

Some gasped in an overly dramatic manner, a crowd growing around them. He wanted to curse the lot of them. It landed in front of him, dropping a little capsule looking thing.

He touched it cautiously, wondering if it might be a portkey, almost hoping it was.

It wasn't. He took a step back as a sort of hologram type thing arose from the thing, forming an image…like a moving image. A film. He stiffened.

Voldemort.

_Harry. _

"What is that?" Abraxas whispered. He ignored Granger's explanation. Was this pre-recorded, or actually happening? Time to test it out.

"Voldemort," he greeted calmly. "Harry. Okay?"

"Hello Tom," Voldemort replied, looking rather smug. He studied the Dark Lord for only a few seconds, before switching his attention to the figure Voldemort was holding in front of him by the shoulders again.

Harry looked bored.

He wasn't fooled.

The other's grip must have been hurting him, didn't it normally? Besides…his gut clenched

."Started in early on the Crucios I see," he stated.

"You should have trained him to hold his tongue better," Voldemort replied. "Speaking of, aren't you going to say 'hello', Harry? This will be the last time you see him and the rest of your friends…can you see the mudblood on the screen to? Tell them it will be okay, I dare you."

"_Harry!_" Granger shrieked, tears in her eyes.

"Let him go, you bastard!" Weasel snarled.

Tom's fingers twitched with the urge to throttle them both, and he folded them instead, locking his gaze onto Harry's.

"Where are you?" he demanded, with as much patience as he could muster, which wasn't all that much currently.

"No idea," Harry replied promptly, flashing him that smile. His jaw tightened.

"Make an educated guess, sweetheart, you're normally good with them."

Voldemort laughed.

"He's not going to help you find him, child. He doesn't want you anywhere near me. Hero complex…"

"Yes," he snapped. "But I was hoping, rather foolishly I see, that self-preservation might win over his apparent desire for suicide for once.

""I'm not suicidal," Harry frowned.

He was starting to feel the emotions rolling into his head now, barriers strained by the pain the boy was in. Anger. Embarrassment. Sorrow. Hatred. Relief. Desperation. Triumph. _Fear. _

Harry was acting calm for the sake of his friends, watching, no doubt. How could Lovegood claim he wasn't strong?

"Well, considering another one of your arguments was that you could stay out of trouble when left to your own devices, I don't believe you. The evidence before me seems to suggest the latter," he replied.

Silence, and Harry simply smiled at him, a little sadder this time.

He wanted to throw something.

Choke something.

Kill something.

His magic flared dangerously.

"Let him go," he told Voldemort, coldly. "It's me you want, isn't it?"

"You sound ridiculously noble and self-sacrificing with that statement," the Dark Lord drawled, in response.

"What do you want then?" he asked, barely controlling his temper.

There was nothing right in this situation. Just the sight of Harry - and though no one else could, he could feel how much agony the other was in, even if he was putting his shields to work in muting the sensation…protecting him from it - was making his blood boil.

Especially because it was due to Voldemort, when all he could do was just stand here _talking _through a security camera or something.

"I want him dead," his elder said.

"Not happening," he replied immediately. "So give it up and _**give him back to me."**_

"Take off the life bond."

"No."

"Crucio."

He felt something like horror, as close as he could get, he didn't know, it was new and confusing and there was a sickness in his stomach that wasn't originating from Harry's emotions this time.

He didn't look to note the reactions of anyone around him, stepping towards the hologramic image, before remembering, with a sour taste in his mouth, that was all he was.

It was an image. A taunt.

"Stop it," he warned, unable to remove his eyes from the sight of Harry screaming in agony.

"Or what?" Voldemort returned lazily. "I'll stop when I can kill him. Can you watch him go mad?"

No. No. No.

"How will driving him mad help you? You still wouldn't be able to kill him, and I would hunt you down and destroy you."

It wasn't a boast, it wasn't even a threat, it was stone cold promise of how events would play. The curse cut, with the same indolence, but he didn't think it was fully due to his words.

Harry looked vaguely dazed, and he suspected the curse had been halted to deny his friend the chance of falling into oblivious unconsciousness, and the respite that would bring.

The foreign feeling of humiliation flittered bolder in his head.

"It doesn't," Voldemort said. "But then, I'd rather we all lose, then that either of you win. Consider your self-preservation, Tom. I could kill us all, or I could kill and otherwise destroy _him. _You can still live. Or you need to do is remove the bond and go back home, you have your whole life ahead of you. I can even take the memory away, if you wish. One time offer, Tom, one time mercy. All you need to do is let go of him."

He was silent, thoughtful. It made sense. And yet…

"Go on then," he challenged. Voldemort's eyes widened with shock.

"Excuse me?"

"Kill him them, kill us all." Let the timeline implode. He wouldn't. Voldemort wouldn't go through with it…his self preservation was too high. He cared about survival above all else.

"Tom," Harry spoke again, furiously, irritably, though it sounded like it cost him great effort, teeth gritted. "Just take his bloody offer."

"I'm ignoring that comment, darling."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"I told you he doesn't listen to me."

* * *

Zevi watched the conversation with dismay, his stomach twisting, his face pale. His heart was in his mouth.

He felt like the world had tipped off balance, and it was made even worse by the casual way the three of them were talking, the way Harry and Tom were still maintaining a level of their normal banter.

It was as if this wasn't even a big deal or issue to them.

Many, looking at Tom, would guess that Harry meant nothing to him by the calmness of his face and words, the lack of distress or terror or pleading.

But he'd known Tom for going on six years now though, and had made a lifestyle from studying the Slytherin Heir, trying to figure out the complex, brilliant teenager.

Tom wasn't calm.

His knuckles were too white, his posture too rigid and still. Tom was capable of great stillness, becoming almost stone seemingly, but it was good for no one when he did.

The intentness with which his attention was fixed upon the hologram thing was another indicator. His eyes barely left Harry's form for a few seconds.

Then there was the fact that he was holding the conversation at all.

If he didn't care he would have just walked away, or let Harry die. Let alone perform this…life bond. He shivered. He knew of that magic, powerful magic, dangerous magic. Someone who didn't care would never cast it.

On the screen, Harry rolled his eyes, pale, but otherwise appearing fine…and he was coming to realise he seriously underestimated Harry's acting skills and capacity to endure.

"I told you he doesn't listen to me," Harry said, in a vaguely 'told-you-so' type of voice. The words were directed at the Dark Lord.

Voldemort's eyes flashed once more, and the snake around his shoulder hissed menacingly. He noticed Harry kept glancing at it, expression still neutral, but with the glimmers of something that he'd learned to be wary of.

He couldn't put his finger to what it was though.

"Then I'll just keep him," Lord Voldemort told Tom, voice almost a snarl. "You'll never see him again, just feel his pain every day. He'll hate you for not letting him die."

"I hate him anyway," Harry laughed, defiantly. He would have been terrified by the proclamation if it was about him, allusions to his lifetime of imprisonment and torture, and aside from the same stubborn rigidness in Tom's shoulders, there was no sign with Harry either. "Everyday and never."

Tom hissed something, face savage suddenly, mask broken. Voldemort's lips curled in a mocking imitation of a smile, beyond cruel. There was nothing human there.

"Cute," was all he said.

"You'll spend your whole life running," Tom said, quietly, lethally. "I would hunt you down and destroy you."

"That's not necessary, all I need to do is disappear for four months."

Tom's eyes shot to Harry again.

"I told you not to play with me, Tom," Voldemort said, with great satisfaction. "Because you'll never win. Your sentiment cripples you. Let it go."

Zevi could scarcely believe that they were doing this all so publicly, not even in Parseltongue, letting them see.

He suspected if Harry and Tom had a choice in the matter, that this affair would be conducted in private, but Voldemort…Voldemort seemed to have become fond of public eye, show and flair.

Tom could have sent them out the room, but he didn't, because at this moment in time they didn't even register on his scale of importance.

Even Lestrange, knocked out in the corner for a later date (it was more than clear that Tom was once more putting Harry's safety over Lestrange's punishment, as he had with the poison incident) wasn't of any significance to his lord right now, when he most likely wanted someone to torture.

"And yet you'd never let him live, even if I conceded to that point," Tom returned, no inflection his voice. "If I removed the life bond and left for the past, you'd still kill him."

"No, but you'd get to live. At this point, it stands that you die with him. Is he really worth it? Re-"

"If you think it's not worth dying for him, then give him back, because, as I believe I've made clear, you will die if he does."

The two Dark Lord stared at each other, assessing, and Zevi wondered why Harry was so quiet. It was…uncharacteristic.

He couldn't imagine the ex Gryffindor merely letting the two talk about and over him as if he wasn't there, or simply a possession to be squabbled over as a sign of victory and dominance. If he was the Dark Lord, he, like Tom, would automatically be terrified when Harry went so quiet and seemingly docile.

"My forces outnumber yours, if, by some miracle, you did manage to 'hunt me down' it would be you who loses your memories, not I who loses my life."

Zevi realised instantly that the man had crossed some line too far, not for Tom, but for Harry, who's head tilted just slightly to look at Voldemort.

There was suddenly absolutely no expression on his face.

Then the screen cut to the sound of screams, flickering. Splintered.

* * *

It was strange.

Harry felt…detached.

His emotions were there, he could feel them, but they didn't cloud his thoughts or influence them, only spurned him on as he finally managed to free his hands (he'd been working on them behind his back the whole time Tom and Voldemort were talking) and then, every single emotion that had been building - the fear, the anger, the desperation, the hate, the _protectiveness_ - and he chucked it through the link at Voldemort.

Voldemort was feeling every emotion in his head, and it _hurt. _The snake faced man wasn't human or whole enough for them, and cringed for them, and Harry seized his wand back, and then they were duelling.

Nagini was trying to attack him too, and he'd lashed to knock Bellatrix out with violent explosions of his power, she was not his enemy now.

"You won't get out alive," Voldemort hissed, trading curses with him.

"You don't get to threaten the people I care about, not anymore."

Because that was the crux of it, and always had been. He could tolerate and endure and even forgive what was done to him, but if _anyone _attacked his friends…

Maybe he had a hero complex, but it wasn't a light one. He wasn't light anymore. He'd kill to protect his friends and family.

Alone, one on one, they danced around their spells and curses and hate.

And Harry, Harry won.

Emotions were crippling.

Voldemort was the one feeling all emotions now.

He was empty.

And so he grabbed the snake - there was something about it, and besides, it was leverage, caging it - and ran. He blew the dungeon door off it's hinges, sprinting down the corridor, felling anyone who came into his path.

Some sort of alarm was wailing, and in an absent way, he was aware of the Death Eaters that sought to bring him down, closing in one him.

A hand clamped over his mouth, pulling him into a side room.

He whipped around, wand in hand, only as another wand dug into his throat.

No. Not now. He was too close.

He…Lucius Malfoy.

The man pressed a finger to his lips, in indication to be quiet. Death Eaters thundered past their door.

Malfoy pulled out an object - a crystal paperweight - offering it to him. He surveyed it for a moment, untrusting, and yet…

"You saved my son's life," was all Malfoy said.

And that was explanation enough.

He took the portkey and disappeared.

* * *

A/N: I'm so nervous about this chapter. It's a big moment, and I know you guys had high expectations. I hope I did it justice. Are you looking forward to Tom's reaction when he sees Harry again? *evil smirk*

But anyway, enjoy, I hope :)

Thanks for the reviews. Your update is granted. 


	135. Chapter 134

Chapter 134:

Staggering slightly, Harry had picked himself up from the cobbled Hogsmeade streets, ignoring the bewildered looks of the residents there and made his way back up to Hogwarts…fast.

He wouldn't put it past Voldemort to 'hunt him down' in the same manner Tom threatened to hunt down Voldemort. It wasn't the pleasantest thought, so he'd rather get into the relative safety of Hogwarts wards.

Nagini hissed at him, violently from her cage.

"**Let me go, you stupid boy, you cannot cage me like this! Where is my master? What are you doing?"**

He ignored her. He wasn't completely sure why he had taken the snake, it had just been a feeling but…Voldemort was very snake like, wasn't he? And in all the memories Harry had seen, he wasn't showing hints of snake-appearance either, just blurriness….so Nagini was somehow causing it.

Had she been part of the ritual? Except, that, alone, wouldn't be enough to make Voldemort so serpentine. Horcrux? He felt sick to think about it, yet triumphant that if Nagini was a Horcrux, he had four Horcruxes in his possession, the ring in close vicinity with Tom, and one left to find. The diary was destroyed, and the seventh piece was Voldemort himself.

Therefore, if Nagini was, somehow, impossibly, so luckily, a Horcrux…he only had one more to find.

He stumbled across the grounds, and into Hogwarts. He was barely a couple of steps inside before a force was crushing him. Brown hair.

Hermione.

"Harry, thank goodness you're alright, we thought you were dead! How did you manage to get away? Are you hurt? You should go to the Hospital, oh you could have been killed-"

"-I'm fine," he interrupted her, not unkindly. "Breathe. I'm okay, really."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

Harry's head whipped up, and Hermione's arms slid away from their bear hug to reveal Tom, standing a few metres away, seeming somewhat frozen. He assumed Hermione had ran in front of the other's approach to hug him.

That expression was too calm. Deadly.

Oh _crap. _

He set Nagini's cage on the ground, still ignoring the furious creature - though everyone else (barring Tom, who so far hadn't even glanced at her that he'd seen) was eyeing her, aghast - but didn't remove either Cup or Locket from his person.

Tom took a several steps closer to him, and by contrast, Hermione backed away as if to give them space, suddenly looking nervous.

His gaze cast cursively across all his friends, each showing some signs of distress, and then Lestrange's unconscious form. Fury burned through him at the sight of the other boy, momentarily, before he snapped his attention back to Tom.

_Tom. _

"…Hi to you too," he greeted, somewhat lamely. The other did not look amused. In the slightest. He attempted a smile.

Violet eyes seemed to search every inch of his soul, raking across his form, seeing stories and explanations written in every line of his posture.

"**The screen went black."**

Harry swallowed, his chest suddenly tight.

"T-"

"You spent the whole conversation saying goodbye to me, and then you cut the screen," Tom stated, very softly. "Everyday and never, really. Harry? _Really_?"

"You're angry," he pointed out the obvious. He didn't seem to be particularly talented at this…it was just…the other's words, the conversation with Voldemort, kept playing through his head.

He had been saying goodbye. He hadn't known what would happen, and he knew luck ran out. It was just…was he supposed to _not _say anything? Act like there wasn't a good chance they'd never see each other again if Voldemort had his way? He couldn't.

"Oh I left angry back in the bloody kiddie pool, darling."

Harry winced inwardly.

"Er…no harm no foul?" he tried.

Tom smiled, disarmingly.

"Always."

The next second hands were manoeuvring his arms relentlessly. Harry looked down, for the first time, to where the pad of Tom's thumb traced across a rather nasty looking red welt on his wrists. Oh. The chains.

"Would you look at that, _harm_-"

"T-"

He was spun, in an unforgiving manner, Tom methodically pointing out every single injury he had that the other came across, not even including the cruciatus.

It wasn't _that _bad, he'd had worse…but duelling Voldemort and numerous Death Eaters didn't, naturally, leave one wholly unscathed. He bit his lip.

"-Ah," Tom yanked up his shirt. "Bruised ribs, _harm-"_

_"-_Okay!" he hissed, trying to tug the material down again. "I get the point, alright?"

"Do you?" Tom questioned icily. "What is it?"

"That you're going to lecture me for something that wasn't my fault! Salazar, you try duelling Voldemort and his inner circle all at once and see if you come out any better than me when they're allowed to actually cause damage."

They glared at each other, ferociously, for a moment, but neither moved, and Harry didn't yank his pulse away from Tom's searching fingers either.

"I'm sorry," he said it barely above a whisper, after a minute, but he knew Tom heard it perfectly well, even if nobody else did.

"My lord-"

Lestrange had woken up. Without giving it much thought, Harry flicked his wand out and shot a pain curse. A glance at Tom showed the other had done exactly the same.

Lestrange dropped to the ground, trying, and failing, to hold back screams.

"For once in your miserable, treacherous life, Lestrange," Harry said coldly. "Hold your tongue, because for once in _my _life I'm not sure I can resist the temptation of removing it."

"You won't torture me-"

"I've had a pretty shitty couple of hours," he laughed, almost hysterically. "_Try me." _

Lestrange fell silent, whimpering in pain, and he didn't look at the rest of his friends to gauge their reactions. Tom arched his brows at him.

"I'm sure you're fine," the other said, quietly, sarcastically.

Harry's lips twitched into the beginnings of something, be it a smile or a frown he wasn't entirely certain. He knew he wasn't anywhere near out the danger zone, but…

" I will be," he amended, in a second of devastating honesty. Tom's hand squeezed his wrist in response, barely noticeably.

"Lestrange said you went to Gringotts."

"The urge to remove his tongue is growing," Harry deadpanned, not particularly caring to ask himself how much of that was a joke and how much was a brutal truth.

"I'll check if history says he has a tongue, if not, feel free."

He didn't need to ask to know that Tom _wasn't _joking. The appropriate reaction probably wasn't to feel touched though. He couldn't bring himself to care about that, either.

"Find what you were looking for?"

"Yes." Harry smiled, genuinely that time. He glanced at Nagini. "And maybe a little more."

"I presume you were plotting your escape during our conversation," Tom stated. He nodded.

"Among working on freeing my hands, yes," Harry agreed. The other's fingers tightened fractionally.

"You didn't know if your plan would work though."

Harry was getting an awful feeling of forbidding.

"I had a pretty good idea," he dismissed.

"Then why were you saying goodbye?" Tom hissed. Harry swallowed, again, but met that familiar, inexorable gaze evenly enough.

"I needed Voldemort to give up on retaliation from me-"

_"No._" The grip became painful, shifting to the front of his shirt, one of the knuckles pressing against his heart. Those eyes grew even more piercing, intent, demanding, unforgiving of his evasion.

"Tom-"

"Do not presume to lie to _me_, not now, and not again."

Again. Right. Sneaking to Gringotts.

"The prince of liars is getting sick of his trade?" Harry returned.

Tom simply stared at him in response. He sighed, inaudibly.

"No I didn't know my plan would work," he admitted, continuing before the other could speak. "But nor was I going to watch you concede to him on my behalf, so, my plan it was. Besides," he muttered, looking away, marginally uncomfortable. "No plans are foolproof. It worked out."

"I never concede to anyone for anything but that which I want, I'm not you, I don't play the hero."

"Could have fooled me earlier," Harry replied, suddenly bold. "_**I don't know how many times you've stood up on my behalf now."**_

Tom shrugged, lightly, but his eyes flickered slightly.

"It would be a nightmare trying to replace you, far too much effort."

"Right," Harry smirked. Tom smirked back, the smallest, barest smile, but there nonetheless. There was a moment of quiet. "Thank you." The words came out as softly as the sorry had, just as uncomfortably in its sincerity.

"I thought…" Tom never finished his words, shaking his head dismissively, tone coloured by a paradoxical combination of brightness and dark, close to his ear, menacing. "_If you ever pull a stunt like that I will have you privately institutionalised for your own safety_."

Harry's eyes widened.

* * *

Abraxas studied the two of them closely, looking for hints on how he should be reacting.

There was anger between them, that much was clear, but that was a mere surface emotion. He had no doubt that his lord was furious, his words alone consolidated the emotion and sent shivers running down his spine in fear.

A wrathful Tom was never a good Tom to be around.

The more…potent emotions were those veiled beneath the layers of callous fury and argument. In the time between the screen cutting black and Harry's arrival the Slytherin Heir had turned ashen, magic blazing like white hot flames, posture all too still and casual.

If Tom had even been rigid, it would have been better than the indifference that had overcome him, the mask of nonchalance.

He'd only seen Tom like that once before, the night he solidified his claim within their house and crushed all those who had sought to torment him for his dubious bloodline.

Abraxas still had nightmares about that night.

Tom torturing someone on emotions was terrifying, for his emotions powered his magic and stoked that dark aura until all the lights in his vicinity seemed snuffed.

Tom, apparently devoid of any and all emotions, utterly lost to any strain of humanity (for emotions were an all too human thing, weren't they?) was a thousand times worth.

Everyone had known the emotions had been there, but the young Dark Lord had been removed from them. Emotions didn't fuel the pain he inflicted, pure will did.

It hadn't been torture for Tom's sadistic love of torture, it hadn't been torture born out a temper snapped, it had been a means to a goal. Ruthless determination. That had been all which was visible on Tom's face.

Ruthless determination.

Harry had managed, where all others failed, to reach his lord's heart and force him to feel.

And then Harry hadn't been there, and none of them knew his fate. Tom had simultaneously closed off all feeling for apathy. Maybe it hurt him too much.

He suspected if Harry had…died, or not returned when he did, that his lord would simply have self-destructed, metaphorically torn out his heart and survived only for the completion of his next goal.

Going through the motions.

Dead inside.

It was…horrifying to imagine. He was so glad Harry had returned. The consequences of him not doing would have been devastating, for all of them.

Now, those emotions were returning.

He realised, with a sickening clarity, that Harry had come to be Tom's humanity.

Concern; there was concern in the way that Tom's fingers seized and didn't let go, and relief too. Harry wasn't as blasé as he struggled to appear either, for he didn't move back.

Normally, he'd noticed, Harry would back off and a fight would ensue, now, he was staying as close to Tom as Tom was to him, soaking in the other's presence like a plant did the sun.

Abraxas felt…awkward watching to two of them, even if he couldn't hear everything they were saying, merely because of the raw intimacy he could sense between the two of them.

In the common room, around them, Harry and Tom tended to play a role and dilute their - obviously overwhelming, consuming - intensity for banter. Games were twisted to be verbal and mental ones, accentuated by the push and pull of physical contact.

There was still an element of that, but the dilution had dropped, everything combining to something fiercer. This wasn't a game. Abraxas' mouth felt dry.

He knew many assumed that Harry and Tom…wanted each other, but he could see now that was a stupid thing to say. This wasn't a matter of want and desire.

This was need.

Everything else was just secondary, side effects. Someone of a more romantic nature would call them soul mates.

Their voices dropped even lower for a moment, before they finally turned and acknowledged the rest of them, still standing side by side.

Harry explained how he had managed to escape (though not, he suspected, in detail) tossing him a crystal weight, and requesting he return it with subtle thanks to his son.

He himself was uncertain of the ramifications of Lucius' actions.

He didn't want to see Harry hurt, both for the merit of what the loss would do to Tom and simply for Harry's sake (he did actually _like _the man). However, he knew there would be a fallout. He thought things might be beginning to settle down.

Then Dumbledore strode into the entrance hall, and he knew, with a sinking heart and a thrill of anticipation, that it was not.

* * *

As the old man entered, Tom felt a savage burst of hatred, and tightened his grip on Harry, yanking him nearer, till the other was practically pressed against him, tugging hard with the anticipation that Harry would resist the increase in their - already quite close - physical proximity.

Harry didn't, and in return, smacked into his chest with a somewhat surprised sound, clearly not having been expecting it like Tom had thought he might.

His friend twisted his head around at him, eyebrows raising slightly in something like admonishment, before he switched his attention back to the Headmaster who had frozen before them.

"Harry," Dumbledore breathed. "I heard - my boy, I came as soon as I heard - I was at the ministry in a war conference - there were reports saying you'd been kidnapped by Voldemort?"

He took a vindictive pleasure in the man's confusion.

"Yes," Harry said, offering no more. Dumbledore's gaze cast across them, stopping on Nagini with a frown.

"I presume you had a reason for being outside the castle walls?"

"Yes," Harry said again. "And I'll discuss it with you in due course."

Privately, he meant. Tom's eyes flashed…did Harry really think he would let him anywhere alone? After today?

"My office door is always open to you," the man replied.

Tom's fingers tightened once more, and he felt Harry shift to accommodate the hold, his finger tapping against his grip in a sign that he should be loosening it, a signal to relax.

He didn't know how he knew what Harry meant, and didn't care to analyse how he knew exactly how to interpret the gesture either.

"You know," he said, instead, addressing the aged Headmaster. "He might not have been outside the castle walls at all if you didn't practically encourage his urge for danger, and apparent desire to get himself killed."

"And yet," Dumbledore returned, coldly, "if it wasn't a danger addict, I highly doubt he'd tolerate your presence. You are, of course, correct, I should have instilled a stronger desire for safety within him."

"Now, now boys," Harry said dryly. "Play nicely. Headmaster, don't presume to think that your manipulations have any hold upon the shaping of my personality…Tom…don't blame him, and don't be a hypocrite. You are, I believe, the one who hates limitations and thus encourages me not to follow them."

The words were mild, not designed to wound, only, he assumed, to put him at ease with its discreet teasing.

"I encourage you to question the unnecessary societal and moral limitations you impose upon yourself," he returned, "I don't believe I've ever encouraged your appalling hero complex and passive suicidal tendencies, indeed, one could argue I've fought - and, it seems, failed - in curing you of them."

He was fully aware that Harry picked up on the dangerous bite in his tone, for the other tensed marginally.

"His morality is what makes him human," Dumbledore stated, apparently offended by the blunt declaration, the air around him chilling. Tom was unimpressed.

"And yet, morality is a subjective thing which changes depending on culture and individual. One would think something so essential would be more objective. No, what makes him human is his capacity for emotions, memory, reason and general above animalistic intellect. Or, if you want to be biblical about it, his soul."

"Animals have no moral conscience," Dumbledore began.

"Fear is the mother of all morality. Humans _create _their morality because they're scared of chaos, and the lack of rules that no morality would bring. I could get into an argument with you about it, old man, but it would be a stupendous waste of my time and I have better things to be doing. Harry - with me."

He sent a curt signal to his Slytherins to make sure they kept Lestrange secure, and took him to the Common Room.

He'd deal with the traitor after he'd dealt with Harry.

He spun, pushing the other boy in front of him and in the direction he wanted to go, sending a light warning thrum through the mark.

If Harry really, desperately, wanted to talk to his friends, he should have done so on his 'Gryffindor day' instead of almost getting himself killed. His throat tightened at the thought, uneasily.

That could never happen.

* * *

Harry turned to face Tom as they reached the room of requirement, steeling his nerves, setting Nagini's cage down again. He was going to have to watch his Parseltongue around her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, softly. He'd have asked the question earlier, immediately, but he'd known there would be no chance of an honest answer in such a public setting. Tom looked at him sharply.

"No."

Harry's barely caught his shock.

Despite that they'd moved out of public eye, he hadn't expected him to admit it so openly, and he'd already kind of seen the signs for the lack of being 'alright'. Tom stared at him, barely any expression on his face.

"Alright indicates pleasantness, a general feeling of satisfaction or of things being good. What part of this is _alright_?"

"The part where I'm not dead, presumably," Harry replied.

"Not dead now, what about next time you go off on one of your reckless plans - Lestrange, really? He tried to kill you, golden boy! - will you be dead then, sometime in the future, will you be dead then?"

"I didn't just trust Lestrange, I'm not that stupid," he growled. "I got him to swear an oath first."

"Not good enough, apparently-"

"-Everyone dies sometime, Tom-"

"_Not. You," _Tom hissed. "I won't allow it."

Harry swallowed.

"I don't want to live forever," he said quietly.

"Then I suppose you'll have to kill me, prophecy boy, because I'm not planning on letting you die anytime soon."

"I don't want to kill you!"

"I don't want you dead."

Harry sighed, running an aching hand through his hair.

The whole Voldemort thing was starting to take it's toll now, he was so tired. Magical exhaustion, physical exhaustion, mental exhaustion. Tom's head tilted.

"There are healing potions on the cupboard behind you," the other stated.

Harry looked around for the first time, taking in the room Tom had conjured.

It showed his preference in that there was a crackling fireplace and that it opened up to the sky - a sunny day, despite that in truth it was dark and cold outside. There were an assortment of chairs, sofas, and entire rows of healing equipments on shelves.

It was also a big room, despite that only a small portion of space was necessary. Seeing it, he suddenly realised how much he didn't want to be in an enclosed space right now, after that dungeon.

He walked over, picking out a pain potion, a bruise balm and a general healing potion for minor cuts and bruises.

"Snape will be pissed if these came from his personal stores," he said. "And I daresay Pomfrey would miss hers too."

"Drink."

Harry unscrewed the flash, downing the pain potion and the general healing potion. He'd save the bruise balm for a later date, though he was fully aware that Tom had carefully noted which healing implements he was picking up. He glanced up.

"What are your plans for Lestrange?"

"If you _dare _tell me not to punish him-"

"Don't kill him."

"I wasn't going to, unfortunately, that must wait until the time line is stabilised and sorted. Do you want to help?"

"Help you torture him?" Harry questioned, lowering his eyes to the empty bottles in his hands.

"Yes."

"I'll deal with him," he said.

He didn't agree with Tom's methods of torture, but he couldn't deny that something needed to be done about the other boy. But he had his own methods of vengeance.

Tom made a dissatisfied sound.

"You can't expect me to leave him be. I won't."

"You don't trust me to deal with him satisfactorily?"

"You're too merciful and kind to your enemies for my liking, I will admit," Tom said. Harry laughed, slightly.

"Don't mistake forgiveness for the actions people take against me as something that will extend to anything resembling mercy or kindness when those actions start screwing with people I care about," he replied firmly. "The world could have gone up in flames today. It's not just me he's wronged, but it's me primarily, and so surely it is my right to decide his fate?"

"He's my Death Eater, and thus, my jurisdiction. Together."

"Together if I'm in charge. You'll follow my lead," Harry proposed.

Tom surveyed him for a moment, his eyes glittering.

"Better make it impressive then," was all he said, challenging.

Harry met intrigued eyes, and nodded.

They weren't alright…but maybe they would be.

With time.

A _lot _of time judging by the dangerous look in Tom's eyes.

Great.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy sprinted through his quarters, haphazardly packing, his beautiful Narcissa staring at him, alarmed but ultimately composed."

What do you mean we have to leave? Lucius - talk to me?" she demanded, seizing his arms tightly.

His eyes were wild, feverish, yet simultaneously cool with his plan.

"Pack your stuff," he ordered. "Now. I will explain everything later. Just…trust me. Okay?"

"Darling-"

"_Please."_

Ten minutes later, they apparated straight outside the Hogwarts Gates.

* * *

A/N: 3000 reviews! THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH! I love you all! :D You are amazing and I can't find enough words to describe your singular awesomeness. I read every review multiple times with a grin on my face that makes people think that I've gone mad for smiling for no apparent reason. 

I'm still working on an idea for the anniversary. 

I hope you enjoyed the chapter :)

PS: Happy Valentine's Day. I 3 you. What do you guys think of a Valentine's Day DD oneshot? (not replacing the anniversary one) Ideas? Thoughts? I'll either write it or not tomorrow/today cause it's 1am where I am...  
If I have time, which I might, cause I tend to stay up late. Anyway.

Goodnight!


	136. Chapter 135

Chapter 135:

"So, which ones did you find?" Tom questioned, after a while.

They'd been sitting in the Room of Requirement in silence since their agreement regarding the handling of Lestrange's punishment, about five minutes ago.

It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, per say, more an expectant respite.

Harry felt like he was falling asleep anyway, sitting before the blazing fire. Tom has dragged his sofa even closer to it, head near Harry's on the arm of the couch, arm dangling not far from him.

He snapped somewhat to attention at the question. His eyes flicked to Nagini.

"What?" he asked. Tom smirked, faintly.

"I can sense them on you, sunshine," the young Dark Lord replied. "There are five extra pieces of my soul in this room.

"Harry wondered if he'd imagined Tom's momentary hesitation on the number 'five'. The rest of the words were spoken with such smooth confidence that he thought he must have

. He didn't disregard the thought though, carefully noting it for further examination at a later date.

He considered for a moment, before pulling out the cup. He'd be keeping a very close hand on it at all times, and he certainly didn't trust to hide it. He would have to be vigilant against Tom's likely efforts to steal it. The Slytherin Heir's eyes widened for a moment, gleaming at the artefact, slender fingers reaching out as if to take it.

Harry dropped it back into his inner jacket pocket again with a smile.

"Hufflepuff's cup," Tom murmured. "How…magnificent."

"Hmm," Harry replied. "No such thing as being ostentatious in your choices is there? though I must admit the Hogwarts link is making it easier for me to find them."

He knew of six Horcruxes now; himself, the cup, the locket, the ring, Nagini and the Diary - already destroyed. He had one more left to find, and he, rather strongly, suspected it to be in Hogwarts.

Perhaps even in the Room of Requirement, a variation of it, anyway.

The problem was that Tom could sense the damn things too, and if Tom got to that Horcrux first and hid it, things could get difficult for him.

"They're not mine."

"You'd go after the same objects though," Harry returned. "Love of grand trophies and all that. You wouldn't house your soul in something of no significance either."

Tom's eyes were very intent on his.

"One more to go, then," he noted. Harry smirked.

"Bet it bugs you that I'm winning."

"Winning? That's a rather arrogant presumption, darling, considering everything you still have left to do."

"And you? Have you finished your spell?" Harry returned pointedly.

"I'm liable to finish it before you can find all the pieces…and written your own spell…_and _managed to make Voldemort feel enough remorse to even stitch himself together again."

"Actually, I dare say I'll use the empathio spell like I did today to make him feel my remorse," Harry said brightly. "It seemed to be rather effective."

Tom froze for a second, no longer bothering with his aura of casualness.

"Good luck maintaining a spell while your mind is torn to shreds," the other replied coldly. Harry felt a pang of sorrow, but concealed it behind another smile.

"So it does bug you that I'm winning."

Tom laughed, mirthlessly.

"Winning, Harry? I never realised having your mind blown to ribbons was a success, but I guess it's a different perspective when you make a lifestyle out of being self-destructive."

"Self destructive? That's rich coming from the guy who plans to split his soul," Harry replied coolly. Tom narrowed his eyes.

"That's enhancement, not destruction. The greatest men have all searched for immortality."

"The most fearful men," Harry countered, frustrated, "the most _self-destructive. _Humans aren't supposed to be immortal.""Then being human is overrated and I don't want it," Tom returned.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment.

"Then what are you doing here?" he questioned, very quietly. "Tom Riddle is human, Voldemort is not, and you told me once that I'm the only one keeping you as the former. Do I not cripple you?"

The Slytherin Heir went silent, staring at him with dark, fathomless eyes.

The silence stretched.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy prided himself on always being on the winning side, or, at the very least, not the losing one. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoy's never lost.

That was why he'd decided to get out now, before it was too late.

The Dark Lord was spiralling, and, for the first time, he could no longer see the benefit of supporting that powerful man.

Once upon a time, it had all seemed so noble - their glorious cause and revolution. Lord Voldemort was a dark figurehead, a majestic, brilliant god-like man, someone who would bring the old world to their knees. He'd believed with all his heart.

He'd faltered in those thirteen years of absence, shocked to find that someone so esteemed could be brought so low by a _toddler_, he'd been disgusted, disenchanted…and ever since then the Dark cause had been slowly crumbling.

Then he came across the two of them.

Tom Riddle and Harrison Evans.

When he'd first met Potter he'd thought him a mediocre brat, a child with nothing special or likeable to him…but now…those two.

He dared not stand against them.

He'd heard stories from his father, forbidden whispers of a golden time, and he'd dismissed them along with his old man due to his lack of favour amongst said lord. He hadn't thought anything could be better than the Dark Lord he had once sworn his loyalties too.

Now…now he could see how terribly he had erred.

The Slytherin Duo had a formidable track record, only proved as they flourished and survived while his Lord failed. He could not support Lord Voldemort against such adversary, he was neither blind nor stupid.

He had no desire to lose and be crushed.

Besides, once his Lord found out what he had done…he would be ruined. The man would never forgive him for aiding Potter's escape, even if it was due to debt and family. The only loyalty the Dark Lord was interested in was loyalty to himself.

He wasn't going to wait for suspicion to fall on him.

The man had been enraged today, sparing no one his wrath and curses, insane, irrational. Manic.

Lucius was a Slytherin. He would adapt, and when he couldn't, he would start anew.

Survive.

He would settle his peace, collect Draco and leave the country until the war was over, to return to claim his mantle piece at the forefront of whatever world remained….

Or, he would, if his son and - bizarrely - his father would only cooperate.

Draco was refusing to leave, and he couldn't believe it. Was it the OWLs? He could pay to retake them in Durmstrang!

"You will do as I tell you," he hissed, venomously. "I am your father."

"I'm not leaving," Draco returned, looking towards Abraxas for support. His son was pale, but resolute. "Not now."

"This country is on the brink of war."

"This country is on the brink of _everything," _Draco cried. "You're not here, you haven't seen them, they can actually change things and do something! I'm not going to run and miss possibly the biggest event in our history since the founders."

"The Dark Lord would never tolerate you opposing him, he'd destroy you Draco."

He'd feared, when he heard of the life debt, that his malleable son would choose Riddle and Potter, in their strange allure. It was another reason to get out.

Draco's loyalty, or treachery rather, would be revealed to his Lord and none of their family would be spared for it.

"The Dark Lord is a shadow! You told me he was brilliant, amazing, that he would bring back the old ways but he's not! Lord V-Voldemort is cowering in the face of two teenagers. Malfoy's have pride, you always told me, where is the pride - the honour - in supporting a man like that?"

He opened his mouth to respond, harshly, only to come to an abrupt halt as he caught sight of two figures.

The Slytherin Duo had arrived.

* * *

Harry stilled as he came to the outside of the Slytherin Common Room.

Malfoys. A murder of Malfoy's.

Lucius, Narcissa, Draco and Abraxas.

He blinked. What was going on? And why had the Headmaster not come?

Lucius, as a school Governor (he'd been reinstated, much to Harry's unsurprised disgust) would be able to enter, but surely Dumbledore would know if he had? Harry suspected he'd left for the ministry again.

Sometimes, guiltily, he'd wondered if someone else should be the Headmaster, if the old man with his numerous duties was too busy for the job.

"What's going on?" Tom demanded, voice tight. He hadn't said a word since that conversation in the come and go room.

"He's trying to take Draco away," Abraxas answered immediately.

Lucius' eyes narrowed. Harry's brow furrowed.

Was this because Voldemort knew? They were fleeing - but no, if Voldemort knew of Malfoy's assistance, the blonde would have been too dead to come to Hogwarts. "In the middle of exam year," Abraxas added, snidely, shooting his son a dark look.

Tom's expression slid to one of vague disinterest.

"I see."

"You're turning on Voldemort?" Harry asked Lucius, watching the man carefully. "And there was me thinking that, aside from apparent debts, you were an avid follower."

"He follows people who win," Tom explained carelessly. "Voldemort's not winning, and nor is he in a particularly strong position either…and do _not _try and spin that into a lecture on the merits of treating people nicely golden boy."

"Well, it's true, if you crucio your followers they're not going to stick around when the going get's-" Tom's hand clamped over his mouth.

He winked at the Slytherin Heir instead, cheekily.

However much they argued in private, or whatever issues were involved, in such a situation as this they tended to pretend nothing was wrong…sometimes more successfully than others.

The thing was, he wasn't entirely sure if something _was _wrong, or if Tom was simply thoughtful, and was too tired to try and second guess or analyse his answer.

He'd be able to tell in the morning anyway, no doubt.

Lucius looked uncomfortable. He shook his head out of Tom's grip, smirking. To be fair, the other had practically made commenting an invitation.

Abraxas was looking at Tom with a vaguely pleading expression.

"You can't let them take him," he murmured, trying to sound composed and smooth.

"Can't?" Tom raised an eyebrow, suddenly dangerous with the almost-command. Abraxas swallowed visibly.

"I-I mean, well-"

"Draco, do you want to leave the country?" Harry asked, abruptly.

Draco looked at him cautiously, and once, Harry believed he would have spat something scathing and sneering. This time, and it showed how much everything had changed, he shook his head.

"No," he admitted.

"We can't stay here!" Lucius snarled. "Narcissa - tell him."

"And you're leaving because you don't want to be on the losing side?" Harry clarified, of the elder. "And, I imagine, in fear of what the Dark Lord will do to your when he inevitably finds out that you betrayed him next time you meet, with his skills in Legilimens."

It was almost impossible to get near either Tom or Voldemort after such a betrayal, Harry knew. They might not always know the specifics, but they normally knew that something had occurred.

"What's your point, Potter?" Malfoy questioned coldly.

"Sounds like you need political asylum," Harry shrugged. He felt Tom's eyes flick to him sharply. Malfoy's eyes were unreadable.

"And you could arrange that? In return for what?"

"You could join us."

"Us?"

Harry suddenly lost confidence.

"Well, me-"

"-Us," Tom said, over him. Harry glanced at him, startled. Tom met his gaze for a moment, before looking at the Malfoys once more.

"What are your aims, what are you standing for?" Lucius questioned untrustingly. Immediate problem.

He and Tom wanted different things. Why had that 'us' slipped out, as gratifying as Tom's confirmation had been, as touching, it was somewhat inconvenient when pitching a side to a potential recruit.

"Our main priority at the moment is to get rid of Voldemort," Tom said calmly. "That shall be taking precedence for the next four months at least, after of which, we can discuss the matter further with you."

"A temporary alliance?" Narcissa spoke for the first time, her voice even and cultured.

"Essentially."

"You're not settled as a faction," she stated, no question in his voice. "You have no idea if the two of you working together in such a manner will even work."

Suddenly, Harry grew very aware of the switch that had come over Tom's demeanour, the aura of pure control and power.

"And yet," the Slytherin Heir murmured, lightly. "We have the light and dark lords of the day running and plotting around us, struggling to keep up and so defensive that they can scarcely muster any true offensive." Tom paused, and Harry felt his magic stretch extremely subtly, as if he was only expressing honesty and enthusiasm. "Imagine what we could do."

Lucius looked somewhat transfixed, and, to be honest, everyone actually appeared a bit dazzled. Harry couldn't help but be impressed once again at the smoothness with which Tom could operate when he wanted to. He was a damn good public speaker.

"Think on it," Tom offered, "and get back to us tomorrow if you wish for some to consider your options."

"Will you be able to protect my family?" Narcissa questioned, at their back. Harry turned slightly, looking back at the four of them.

"I can promise to go to every effort to try."

* * *

Tom could practically feel Harry's emotions and thoughts bubbling next to him, as they sat in the common Room - Abraxas and Draco sent to bed, mother and father Malfoy had returned to their manor for the night.

Really, the whole suddenness of their actions had been absurd. It wasn't like Voldemort was going to be swoop down and murder them in one night.

Panic.

Such an irrational thing.

He was somewhat amused by the fact Harry wasn't saying anything, though he knew the boy was absolutely exhausted despite how he was doing every effort to remain awake for the conversation. He waited patiently. Harry would question eventually; he always did.

"Us?" his friend asked, finally.

"Do you have an objection?" he returned, not letting any nerves-uncertainties-show on his face. He knew Harry probably didn't. He had said 'us' first, after all.

"I-no-well-"

"You're so eloquent when you're exhausted," he smirked.

Sleep deprivation with magical exhaustion probably wasn't the best combination, but he had to admit it was… entertaining to witness. Harry scowled.

"I'm not exhausted."

He merely raised incredulous eyebrows in response.

"You should go to sleep."

"Our aims don't match. I don't believe all muggles should die."

He hid a smile. So stubborn. Always so bloody stubborn.

"Harry, go to sleep," he ordered Harry opened his mouth, and he continued over the protest. He was pretty sure he could guess what they were going to be anyway. "If you really want, we can create a constitution for the future of our world _now_, but to be honest I would prefer to do it when you're coherent and at your full potential. Think carefully, darling, do you really want to do something so important now?"

"…you're seriously sending me to bed?"

"Well, you can sleep on the sofa if bothers you that much, though I dare say it wouldn't be as comfortable."

"Funny," Harry sneered.

He shook his head, looking over, before rolling his eyes and standing up and heading for the dormitory himself.

And he tightened the restriction.

* * *

Harry was finally asleep, having succumbed pretty quickly once he was actually lying down. In all frankness, Tom was amazed the boy had held out that long, not falling asleep standing.

Magical exhaustion wasn't something you wanted to mess with, and someone who cared more about rules would have had him the hospital wing by now.

Still, it was easier doing this way, as Harry was more likely to damage himself in the fight that would ensue in actually getting him to the 'white prison.'

Thoughts were whirling around in his, tumbling, incessant. He couldn't believe how this day had turned out. Just remembering that hologram flickering on…and that cruciatus…his fists clenched.

Unnaceptable. Utterly unacceptable.

Lestrange would suffer, even if he had to go behind Harry's back to cause it (though, admittedly, he was fascinated to see what Harry would come up with as punishment.)

Today, he'd actually been…scared, and what did that say? Ugh.

Harry was right, their friendship was crippling.

But then, that was the thing about weaknesses such as these…it was like drugs. He knew it was a vice that he should rid himself of, but he wouldn't get rid of it.

The curse of caring.

He'd gone through this same thought process dozens of times since the last time he'd seen Harry under cruciatus, when he'd inflicted it himself…

He'd have to have him make a Horcrux as soon as possible.

Harry was his weakness, his indulgence.

Sickeningly; he wouldn't have had it any other way.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the reviews :) Much love!

And Fate's Favourite is starting to get near the end! :O About to hit climaxy parts!


	137. Chapter 136

Chapter 136:

Cygnus Lestrange lay awake, nothing but bitterness churning in his stomach. He knew he would be punished for his actions, but he couldn't bring himself care.

They could do nothing to him anymore, and he would not stop until _Harry _was dead.

He knew the other's anticipated his torture, dreadful tortures that he admittedly dreaded to think of, but none of it could sway him from his cause. What could be taken from him that hadn't already been taken?

He'd been stripped of everything that mattered to him, neither his lord nor Evans could do anymore.

When he started, he knew well the negative attention Tom would pay him, but that was just it, wasn't it…attention? Negative attention was still attention, and any attention was better than the dismissal he'd suffered, the alienation, the shame.

If torture and attacking Potter was what it took, he would take that attention.

Tom would not dare dismiss him and leave him unattended for a moment, he would be important, significant, again. He smiled faintly. Yes, that would be good.

He'd slice the boy's throat now when he came to sleep, if it weren't for his skill in warding his bed when he slumbered. None of them could get near, well, except Tom probably, but Tom was perfect.

He sighed, only to feign his breaths to something deeper as the dormitory door swung opened.

Measured, confident but quiet his lord's walk was flawless, so unlike Potter's, which was too light and quick. The Slytherin Heir changed quickly, hidden in shadows.

Only a minute later, that ugly light step came, though slower than usual. Unfortunately, Cygnus couldn't hear a grievous limp, just perhaps the weight of exhaustion.

He heard a melodic laugh escape Tom's lips, and couldn't decide if he hated it or not. He hated that it was Harry that coaxed it out.

"You don't give up, do you?" Harry muttered. "Salazar, you're as bad as Pomfrey."

"Oh, don't insult me, darling," came the soft response, Tom spun around into view again, from the bathroom. "I'm far worse than a nurse."

"Hmm. I don't know," Potter murmured. "Teenage Dark Lord and psychopath against the white dragon lady. Hard choice."

"Brat."

The laughter soured his stomach.

No, there was nothing they could do to him.

He could only go up.

* * *

The next day found Harry and Tom sitting in an empty classroom on their free.

In the afternoon, lessons would be cancelled, as that Ministry Official was coming to give them a talk type thing in the Great Hall. Attendance was, apparently, compulsory, though Harry couldn't think that any talk given by the ministry about the war could be particularly useful to him. For now, they were working on their…constitution, or manifesto, whatever one called this thing.

Harry felt incredibly awkward, and they hadn't barely started. In the light of the morning, it seemed so extremely arrogant to be trying to rule the world.

He didn't even want to be in charge of the world! How could he possibly know what was best for the world anyway? A blank sheet of parchment lay between them.

Harry stared at it awkwardly. Tom was watching him with amusement, to which he scowled.

"So, how are we doing…this?" he asked. This suddenly appeared a massive task, that he couldn't believe he'd agreed to undertake.

"First, we decide on our policies," Tom stated. "Just…give me your opinions. It's really not that different to what we normally do."

Harry swallowed.

"Are you actually planning on world domination, or is this in terms of what we're doing right here, right now, with Voldemort?"

"We'll start with Britain," Tom said, very simply.

Harry's mouth ran dry. Somehow, it hadn't hit him before, the true reality of what the other wanted to do when he left school. He wanted to run the country, revolutionise it, probably act its dictator.

It was an overwhelming realisation.

"…Why?" Harry asked, even quieter now.

"Why what?" Tom replied patiently. "Why I'll start with Britain? That should be obvious, even to one as politically inexperienced as you."

"Exactly!" Harry exclaimed. "I'm politically inexperienced, our policies probably don't match, I-you've never shown any inclination to wanting to share power or control with anyone-"

"If you'd be quiet and breathe between questions, I might actually be able to answer you," Tom remarked dryly. Harry glared.

"I'm serious."

"So am I," Tom returned, arching his brows. "Why you? Because you balance out my personality, and I yours, or have you not noticed? Rumour mills and subtext aside, you do realise I work well with you…better than I do with anyone else. Our strengths compliment, as do our…flaws. You're politically inexperienced now, I'm fully aware of how to play the game. I have no interest in general living and welfare and would find actually dealing with what _people_ want to be overly tedious." Tom studied him, eyes intent. "Why you? Because it's _you_, and I would have no one else."

Harry cast his gaze down, biting his lip, unsure how to respond to such a frank, open response.

"Now," Tom continued. "I know perfectly well that you hold opinions, so come, talk to me. You have a voice, use it. Think of it as just another negotiation, another compromise."

"Merely one that would, if you have your way, shape the future of the world."

"If we have our way," Tom corrected, quietly. "And don't many of our negotiations relate to the future of the world anyway? For Salazar's sake, Harry, we spend most of hours fighting over time itself. In comparison, _plans _and policies aren't that big a deal."

Harry had the mad urge to laugh. Tom was right, in a manner of speaking.

"No muggle genocide," he stated.

And so they began.

* * *

Tom thought the first hour session had gone rather well, once they actually got started.

They would meet the Malfoy's again the evening, it would have been the afternoon, but for this stupid Ministry thing.

He would have got more done this morning, but for the inconvenience of lessons. They'd mostly discussed the muggle problem, and magic, this time round, and he was fully aware of the sheer enormity of what they were doing.

He was certain they could accomplish it though, even where others might fail.

Genocide had been ruled out, as had a full union between magic and muggle worlds.

They'd settled, after much argument and discussion on still allowing muggleborns into the world, but that had never truly been a bone of contention between them. Then, he'd suggested raising all muggleborn children from an early age in the Wizarding world, with magical parents, away from their birth muggles, to which the real debate had began.

Harry disagreed venomously, though he couldn't see what was wrong with that solution.

The other had wanted the muggleborn children to be allowed to stay with their families (with the provision that every family, pureblood or muggle, had frequent checks against abuse - not that he'd ever disagreed about that part). In the end, they'd struggled their way to something of a compromise.

Muggleborn children got to stay with their birth parents on the condition that they took an oath of secrecy regarding the magical world. The children themselves, could, at the age of thirteen, decide whether they wanted to return to the muggle world in the summers or not.

There would also be summer schools and magical orphanages available. Harry, bless him, had been surprised at how un difficult it was to work together, at least on a hypothetical level, once they got started.

He'd never doubted it, after all, they'd already been struggling to shape each other's beliefs for so long now. This was the stuff they'd kind of already covered. Harry had persuaded him away from flat out blood purity - he was a halfblood himself, after all, and he could see now that blood purity did more harm than good.

Magical purity was the way to go. It was all about the magic.

It hadn't all been smooth running, of course, they're differing views on muggles themselves was a point of frustration. Harry, infuriatingly, still couldn't see how vile and inferior they were.

Other than that brick wall, it went relatively okay, for a first effort.

Of course, he hadn't put all his cards on the table either…one day he would make sure that Wizards could live in pride, without need of secrecy and fear, even if it meant 'relocating' every muggle out of England.

Still, he would, if everything went according to plan, have lifetimes - an eternity - to fulfil all his agendas and create his utopia, he didn't need to push that issue straight away. It would take time, anyway.

They entered the great hall, to find that chairs had been set out, lecture style, only without the tables. Students were milling around in a mixture of excitement, worry and pure, undiluted boredom.

He firmly counted himself in the third category.

This was an absurd waste of time, but he'd get through it. He'd mentally plan the Horcrux thing further, instead, and maybe keep an ear out for good ways of discrediting the current ministry.

If they did end staying in this time period (not if he could help it) then it would do no harm highlighting the incompetence of those currently in power. It made a coup easier.

He reckoned he'd start on the Horcrux preparations tomorrow night…teaching Harry how to cast the Avada Kedavra, for example. He'd start small. Mice.

He couldn't say he wasn't looking forward to it.

He glanced sideways at Harry, who'd settled into a seat next to him.

There were several sessions throughout the day, and this one was for the fifth years. Even on the back row, he wasn't far from the front.

A plump, watery eyed ministry official with his hair in a blonde, balding ponytail stepped up to the front of the room, coughing for attention.

Large…not used to fighting, and when he did, he obviously favoured shielding as opposed to dodging. His physique wasn't good enough for dodging, for he was naturally quite broad.

Office worker, he had smudges of ink on his fingertips. Ring, he was married…newly. He kept twisting the gold on his finger as if he wasn't used to having there. He wasn't young though, more middle aged. A second marriage? Yes, second.

He wasn't handsome, rich or powerful enough to have had a string of lovers and divorces.

"This is going to be fun," Harry muttered, sarcastically. "He looks like he couldn't duel his way out of a wet paper bag."

He smirked at the echo of his own thoughts.

"Excuse me," the man boomed. "Quieten down now."

Eventually, a hush fell. "

Righto," the man stated. "My name is Robert Williamson. I work in the Department of Law Enforcement, alongside the Auror Division and the Magical Catastrophe division." He wasn't an Auror.

"Are you an Auror?" someone - a Gryffindor - called out. "I work alongside the Auror division," the man repeated. "All further questions will be answered at the end."

He exchanged a look with Harry, to which the other rolled his eyes.

"My reason for visiting you today is to reassure you of your safety - the ministry are doing everything they can do to combat the Dark threat. I shall also be informing you of the new rules and regulations that are being put in place to guarantee this safety."

He glanced sideways again, starting to feel magic bubbling dangerously. A frown was beginning to make its way onto Harry's face.

He suddenly had the feeling that this talk might be more interesting than he initially thought.

Williamson continued; detailing how all post to and from the castle would begin to be monitored, and how Hogsmeade trips and Quidditch games were to be cancelled (Hogsmeade due to the raids, leaving the safety of the wards; Quidditch due to the parents who would insist on coming in to visit.)

He knew exactly what was riling Harry - it was the lack of talk about actually _training _the students to be able to defend themselves. They didn't even have a new Defence Teacher yet.

Apparently, due to the curse of the job, they were having trouble finding willing teachers, especially in such suspicious times. The new person would be starting on Monday.

Harry's hand finally shot up, and he suppressed another smirk, knowing it was just a technicality and that the other wouldn't actually wait for acknowledgement before speaking. It was mocking gesture.

"And what of actually teaching the students to defend themselves as opposed to bubble wrapping them, as the latter won't do much good?" Harry questioned, loudly. The ministry official looked startled.

"Questions at the end-" Williamson stopped, staring. Tom knew he was picking up on who he was talking to, as he began to flush. Harry Potter fan. Clearly. The man coughed. "Questions at the end," he repeated, less firmly.

"Is that what you'll do when more people end up dead? Ask questions on how it happened? Cause I could just tell you the answer now and save the Ministry several weeks of mindless debate on the issue."

"Mr Potter-

""It'll, I dare say, be because most people in this room would get slaughtered on a raid because our Defence Teachers tend to be crap and the Ministry aren't doing anything about it, and nor is the headmaster."

"There are limited resources-" Williamson began, apparently goaded into actually responding (as Harry had, no doubt, intended) by the insult to Ministry competence.

"Your resources are going to wither to nothing then," Harry interrupted coldly. "As you're misusing those you've got. Have you talked to the Seventh Years, yet? Taught them how to fight? Because they're going to be thrown into the middle of this at the end of the year. _There's _your resources. Students. They're going to be your generations and graduates when you've finished killing everyone else off."

"The Ministry are doing-"

"Everything they can?" Harry laughed. "Then they're not doing enough. Seriously, you're giving me some crap on limited resources, and then they're further wasting resources on stupid, pointless talks to inflate the ministerial ego."

The man's eyes closed for a moment. Tom tilted his head back, thoroughly enjoying himself, aware of the annoyed murmurs that were going around the hall.

Harry may be politically inexperienced, but he was certainly good at fluking it, and had a lot of weight to his voice as the Boy Who Lived. They could use that…though Harry would probably need to be talked into it, with his hatred of spotlights and fame.

"And you think undermining the government is going to be a more effective way of fighting this war?" Williamson returned, obviously fighting for his composure. Harry was growing calmer by comparison, though his eyes were glittering dangerously.

"I think teaching people how to fight this war and defend themselves is a more effective way of fighting this war, yes," Harry said coolly.

The man seemed about to explode. He decided to add his two cents.

"You cannot hope to win a war when the leaders you're following are ineffective."

Harry shot him a look, and he returned it with an innocent expression, to which the other hid a smile.

The murmurs around them were getting louder now, angry. On their behalf. People agreed. He almost smiled himself.

Harry honestly didn't realise how perfect he was sometimes.

"Are you suggesting the ministry of magic is ineffective?" Williamson breathed angrily, looking completely lost with how to deal with this 'mutiny'.

Oh, the ministry were going to be in for a shock…

He and Harry exchanged looks this time, more for effect this time.

"Yes," they both replied promptly.

The man whitened.

* * *

Any good mood Harry could have possibly built up over the successes of the day vanished when he walked into the Common Room. Lestrange. He needed a way to deal with Lestrange, now, probably, unless he wanted to look like he was losing face.

And the bastard was sitting in Tom's chair. He almost gaped.

Tom came to a slow halt next to him, as did most the other Slytherin's, who had frozen.

"You have some nerve, Lestrange," Tom said, quietly. Lestrange laughed, hysterically.

"What are you going to do about it, my lord?" the other challenged. "Torture me? There is _nothing _you can do to punish me more than you have already done."

Harry felt uneasy. Before, Lestrange had always, at least, heeded Tom…was this no longer the case? It was no longer a matter of Harry leading this, they would both have to step in, or crumble in Slytherin hierarchy. Salazar.

"Oh, trust me," Tom smiled, radiating menace, the temperature in the room seeming to drop. "I haven't even started on everything I could do to you."

Harry noticed Lestrange's fingers had started scratching and clawing at his skin again at the words. Tom's eyes flicked to the action, and his smile widened heartlessly.

"That trick? I can assure you, stripping and flaying the skin off your body is child's play."

The yew wand was out, tapping against the Slytherin heir's palm, as he began to circle, predatory. Lestrange swallowed, watching the movement, his pupils dilating. Harry felt a wash of disgust…was that fear or lust? And he'd just had a horrible idea...

"Do what you will, Tom," Lestrange replied, laughing again. "There's nothing you-"

"_Torqueo." _

The next second, Lestrange was on the floor screaming.

Harry understood immediately, and mentally readied himself. Tom couldn't, and wouldn't, indulge his sensibilities and dislike of torture when his empire was at stake. This was a matter of survival.

It wasn't the cruciatus, the Hogwarts wards would hardly allow it, but he knew this curse to be painful.

Lestrange had tears streaming down his face, about to pass out, by the time the young Dark Lord cut the curse, for brief respite. Harry thought fast.

He didn't condone torture, but some level of torture was…inevitable here. He wasn't going to kid himself about what or who he was dealing with.

He'd also noticed that Tom tended to deal with physical pain, despite his claims about the curse of emotion. Of course, as he'd shown before, Tom did also know how to dish out emotional and mental pain with a brutal effectiveness, but…it was clear he favoured physical torture, for whatever reason.

Maybe because he thought it worked better, or that it was more showy for times like this, and looked more impressive to his audience, and was therefore more effective in that manner for proving the point he was trying to make, the warning.

It was, certainly, awful to witness.

His insides twisted. This was only going to get worse.

The screams seemed to pierce his soul, but, in a way, he took comfort from that. How much longer would he still have a whole conscience? Before Tom could continue, for round two, when Lestrange was already crumpled on the floor, sobbing wretchedly, Harry stepped forwards, resting a hand on the Slytherin Heir's shoulder.

Tom's eyes flashed him a deadly warning look.

"Really, Tom, don't you think that's enough?" he said, in response. Lestrange's eyes shot to him, suspicious, perhaps even fearful. "I mean," he shrugged, bracing himself that he was actually doing this, sickened to the stomach. "It's not his fault he's in love with you."

* * *

Blaise Zabini felt a shiver run down his spine at Potter's cruelly kind tone.

"He only wants your attention," Harry continued, "the poor thing, you neglect him so."

He inwardly winced.

Whoever said Harry Potter didn't know how to torture a bloke was fatally wrong; this was harsher than what Riddle had done, and Riddle's punishments were enough to make him cower in terror of provoking them.

Riddle aimed at the body and the mind. Potter was aiming straight at the heart, in public, emotional humiliation.

Scars faded, and in the magical world, most injuries and physical tortures could be cured without lasting damage (when they didn't involve the mind) but this type of embarrassment and shame lasted forever.

He kept his features very carefully composed.

It was no secret that Potter and Lestrange hated each other, and that the latter had this coming for a long time, and deserved it.

Nonetheless, it was eerie to watch, especially as, next to Riddle, it was very easy to dismiss Potter as relatively harmless and certainly more merciful and nice.

In a way, this was merciful, sparing the physical torture and pain. In a way, it was worse.

He supposed that was the point.

Was Lestrange really in love with Riddle? He'd assumed it to be mere sycophantism, lust for power, not actual lust for the young Dark Lord himself. How humiliating.

Riddle shrugged back, adopting an innocent air, and that perhaps chilled him more.

They were fully capable of working as a team, and it said something about Potter's character when in private with Riddle, that he had earned the opportunity to give the other any sort of guidance.

None of the rest of them would have gotten away with stepping into Riddle's way like that.

"I was just trying not to lead the pitiful creature on, actually," Tom replied, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders in turn, tugging the boy closer, looking down at Lestrange, still in a foetal position upon the floor. "Pathetic thing just doesn't get the hint, do you Lestrange? Oh, how desperate can a man be, how low can he sink, to beg torture just for attention, like a common slut."

He didn't know what Potter was thinking at that statement, if Riddle had been saying it to someone else or in some other time or place, he was sure the golden boy would have reared up in the victim's defence, but now his features kept a blank neutrality that revealed nothing of his thoughts, but the mockingly thoughtful way he continued to view Lestrange.

Their prey.

Because, with a horrible clarity, he could see quite evidently that this what it was…two predators circling a fallen prey, toying with it before the fatal blow…and the rest of them…vultures.

Slytherin was a house of vultures.

It was no wonder he'd ended up there.

His mother had made an art of it, had made a vulture a predator, picking her victims out alive, only to claim her prize when they were barely cold between the sheets.

Maybe it was because of that, this familiarity, that he couldn't help but admire the flawlessness of their attack as much as he cringed from it.

"Now, now, be nice," Harry chided. "You'll hurt his feelings. We wouldn't want that. He obviously finds your cruelty…stimulating and then you'd never get him to leech off."

Lestrange muttered something, broken sounding. It sounded like a please.

"Hmmm," Riddle said thoughtfully. "What amazes me is why he thinks he ever had a chance…" the Slytherin Heir crouched then, tapping Lestrange to get him to reveal the expression he was trying to hide. "Lestrange, why is it that you thought you had a chance with me?"

"Stop it, Tom," Lestrange murmured. "Please. I-" He looked around the room, at them all frozen, half fascinated and half horrified by what they were witnessing, but transfixed nonetheless.

No. He never wanted to cross either of them. Riddle looked around himself with an air of surprise.

"What's the matter? I thought you liked my attention…you seemed so eager for your audience before? Publicity not to your taste? I suppose you'd prefer a private room with me, wouldn't you? Come on,_ lovely_, answer my questions, I don't like to keep waiting." There was no response, and Tom tisked. "Do you want me to hurt you again, Lestrange?"

Such a patronising tone, so sweet, so very, very terrible.

Blaise soon decided that he would always rather Tom Riddle showed him obvious anger and rage, then this. Riddle looked over again at Harry, who, he noticed with some relief, was a little pale, even his expression was still fixed.

Personally, though he wasn't sure if anyone else picked up on it for Harry looked so perfectly at ease in posture, he had the suspicion that Harry did not want to be doing this.

But he was proving he could.

Many assumed Potter couldn't play this game, that he was too much the golden boy, too nice.

Blaise realised now that he could, and had always been able to - he just normally refused, held back. He could destroy any of them so easily. He didn't know why that surprised him, the boy was friends, or lovers, or whatever they were, with Riddle, he couldn't possibly be fully nice or innocent.

Riddle would have torn him apart.

He also suspected that the past Slytherins (barring Lestrange in his idiocy) had always known this, because they had never, that he had seen, questioned Harry's right to be at Riddle's side.

They could have ganged together and tried to overthrow him from Riddle's favour, but they didn't. Harry didn't need to keep verbally punching, he'd started this whole thing off, and that was enough to tell them all exactly what he was capable should they push him to it.

It served it's purpose, but it also showed what type of man that Harry was. He didn't unnecessarily hurt people, if he could avoid it.

Maybe that made it all the more frightening when he did finally lash out.

"Harry," Tom said, lightly. "He won't answer me. I think we broke him."

"I'm loyal," Lestrange offered desperately, with a strangled cry.

"Is that why you've been incapable of following any of my orders recently?" Riddle returned, immediately.

"I was loyal until you cast me aside as if I was nothing!."

There was a silence, in which Riddle studied Lestrange. Then his head tilted, his voice growing even more softer, puzzled even.

"But you _are_ nothing. You always have been and you always will be. _Love you?_" Riddle laughed, an icy sound. "Why would anyone ever want to _love _you, least of all I!"

And that was when Cygnus Lestrange truly broke.

* * *

A/N: Eeek. I don't make a habit of writing 'torture' scenes, so I'm rather nervous. Especially as I know you guys think Lestrange's has had this coming a long time. Nonetheless, the idea makes me uncomfortable, and I suppose, like Harry, I would never condone it. Which makes it very hard to write. I hope it turned out okay...if you can call torture okay...

Thanks for the reviews 3 


	138. Chapter 137

Chapter 137:

Harry sighed, standing in a corridor a bit off the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. He hadn't been able to stand it in there any longer, he'd tried, he just…he felt Tom come up behind him.

"Is Lestrange still crying?" he asked softly.

"No," Tom replied, and Harry didn't even need to search to hear the satisfaction in the other's voice. "I knocked him unconscious. It was giving me a headache…and, I gather, you?"

He recognised the subtle question as to how he was feeling, but mused over answering. His insides where churning with guilt and horror, and he knew Tom could sense it.

"Don't worry, I won't break down in front of the Malfoys," he reassured quietly, instead.

Tom simply stared at him in silence, and Harry couldn't decide if the familiar weight of the Slytherin Heir's gaze was calming or suffocating.

"We broke him," Harry said, finally, not planning to have the words slip out.

"Yes," Tom agreed. "And, I must say, it was stunning. Consider me impressed, darling." He was quiet, and the other continued after a moment. "Now _that_, I'm certain, should have elicited some response, be it witty scorn or otherwise. What is it?"

"You wouldn't understand," Harry said, convinced that to be true.

"Your guilt? I imagine not," Tom replied immediately. "But I can listen if it helps." There was a pause, and he could feel the other hesitated on the brink of saying something. "Harry, you must comprehend that this was about survival, you had no other choice. He deserved it, besides."

"Two wrongs don't make a right," Harry murmured.

"He tried to kill you - twice!"

"And in response we destroyed him," Harry snapped, before closing his eyes, breathing deeply, running a shaking hand across his face. "We destroyed him…I…what makes me better than Dudley? The Dursley's, they-"

The next second hands were fiercely tight on his shoulders, seizing his full attention.

"No," Tom hissed. "Don't do that. That's completely different-"

"_How_?"

"Because you didn't deserve it, you were a _child_, an innocent, you did no harm to them that should justify their abuse."

"And yet, I know what it is like to be prey and then forced that same horrible feeling on another person, a classmate…how can that ever be right?"

"It's survival of the fittest," Tom replied, without missing a beat. "We're better than them."

"More powerful, perhaps, but not better…I'm not like you, Tom, I'm-"

"If you're going to say you're on the level of the likes of Lestrange-" Tom began tightly, the first strains of frustration and fury evident in his voice.

"-I know what it's like-"

"Damn it, _stop!_" Tom ordered, fingers gripping even tighter, before seeming to regain composure. "Listen to me very carefully, Harry, _you _do not want to go down that route. Your conscience will tear you apart, and I'm not willing to watch that happen."

"If my conscience will tear me apart, I shouldn't have done it in the first place-"

"And what would you have done instead? Rolled over and let him keep trying to kill you until he succeeds? Stepped aside to let him murder your friends, perhaps?"

"I-of course not, don't be ridiculous!" And with those words, he realised the point Tom was making. Lestrange wouldn't have stopped. Necessary evil. It still felt so wrong.

"You empathise with people too much," Tom murmured after a while.

"And you too little," he returned. "You don't regret it even the slightest, do you?"

Tom didn't seem to find that worth answering, and, to be fair, it was a stupid question. He knew Tom didn't regret it, and nor did he feel guilt. He glanced at the other, who was studying him intently.

He swallowed.

"Does it frustrate you having to deal with my moral crises and ethical dilemmas so often?" he asked lightly, in an effort to inject some normalcy to the situation again.

"No more than my psychotic amorality insults your own sensibilities," Tom replied, with a wry smile. "It feels somewhat like talking to a brick wall at times, I confess, but…"

Harry grinned, despite himself.

"Revenge does taste just a little bit sweet though, doesn't it?" Tom persisted.

"I won't torture unless I absolutely have to, you can add that to our list of policies."

Tom smirked at him, before inclining his head that they should be going to meet the Malfoy's now, walking away.

"Pity," the young Dark Lord called back softly, over his shoulder. "Here's to hoping you have to because as I have said, it was rather magnificent to watch."

Harry rolled his eyes in sheer disbelief.

* * *

Narcissa watched as the two of them - Harry Potter/Evans and Tom Riddle - came to a halt before them. If they had seem united the day before, it seemed they had been together for years today.

She studied them curiously.

Being a Black, she too, like her husband, had heard the stories of the Slytherin Duo - hushed over fires, with an air of secrecy about them, not to be repeated in the Dark Lord's hearing.

She could see now why their lord may have been so angered by these names, the memories they evoked.

"Do you still seek political asylum?" Tom questioned, evenly. "Or are you going to continue on your way out of Britain?

""Would you prevent us from taking our son with us, if we did?" she asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

"No," Harry replied. "Unless Draco himself has some serious, valid objection to moving."

Draco gaped slightly, staring at him. Abraxas expression was utterly neutral.

"And you're current aim is to get rid of the Dark lord?"

"Our current aim is to get rid of that particular variation of the Dark Lord," Riddle stated.

She felt her husband tense next to her. It was somewhat eerie how confident, composed and powerful these two teenagers were.

They stood side by side, not quite touching, but not quite as far apart as two men would normally stand from each other when they had the room to physically be further apart.

"And you seek a temporary alliance…what are your terms and conditions?"

She ignored the slight annoyance radiating from Lucius with ease. He was the one that had got them into this mess, and she would get them out.

Many assumed her to be a mere housewife, hostess and mother, with Lucius as the head of the family. He was. He was head of the Malfoy family in official business.

She was head of _their _family, at home, and would not yield to have it any other way. She ran their house, he ran their life outside it. And he'd ran them to disaster and an increasingly insane Dark Lord.

No more.

"You will give us an oath of allegiance and loyalty for until Voldemort - the current variation-" Potter added, with a half glance at Riddle, "is defeated. You will help us accomplish that goal, not harm or sabotage our allies in that cause, or the cause itself. In return, we will protect you and your family from the Dark Lord and his followers to the best of our ability."

She considered for a moment, her eyes steeled.

To be fair, she already knew her response, Lucius be damned, and she thought they knew it too.

"That is satisfactory," she replied.

Her husband dipped his head in acknowledgement after a moment, eyes hard. They drew up their oaths, all of them. Her stomach fluttered slightly.

She sincerely hoped this time would be better, that the Boy-Who-Lived would balance out the young Dark Lord. They stood in silence for a moment, then Lucius spoke, in a gesture of goodwill.

The other two were the ones in power, after all, and getting some favour if they were going to rule the world would not do any harm.

"The Dark Lord has sped up his plans," her husband said, quietly, meeting Potter's eyes specifically. "He'll be here within a month to finish everything. He raises his army, even now, in preparation."

To the boy's credit, Harry's jaw only clenched fractionally at this statement, the allusion to imminent attempts on his life, the final confrontation.

Riddle studied them sharply, his gaze piercing.

"Then, it seems, we have no time for idle chit chat. I'll have Abraxas get you the details of your new placement."

* * *

The next day dawned, quickly, and the evening, even quicker.

Tom had alternated between working on his time spell (he was almost done with it) at the back of a classroom, and working on their manifesto with Harry in their joint frees.

They were still more tossing ideas between them, and he could feel Harry's cautiousness with what they were doing, but the other was still participating though, which was the main thing.

He couldn't say he understood Harry's hesitance in ruling Britain - he clearly had the ideas on how it should be run - but he knew Harry felt the sentiment. He would work on it. It was a daunting task, after all, it was only natural for Harry to have some qualms.

A year or so a go, he had been a mere puppet in someone else's plans after all, and Tom knew he himself didn't always encourage the other to lead out the two of them (why would he? It was hard enough getting Harry to take anything resembling an order already!)

But he knew Harry _could_ lead, he wouldn't be bothering if the other didn't have a natural flair for it, all he needed to do was coax those qualities out like he'd been trying to do with many other aspects of Harry's personality, which the boy chose to hide.

Like his Slytherin side, the boy had once hidden that, and now he was considered part of the 'Slytherin duo.' Progress. It wasn't that he didn't _accept_Harry's current personality, it was that he was merely smoothing over the rough edges, shining some aspects and doing a bit of rearranging with what was already there.

Besides, Harry was trying to do exactly the same for him - weren't they both compromising and changing for the other? He gave a light tug to the other's arm, signifying a change in destination.

It was time to teach Harry how to kill.

He couldn't say he wasn't excited.

This was his trade, after all, and Harry seemed to enjoy (perhaps pointlessly) teaching him about morals and the muggle world and all the things he liked. It was the same difference.

He thought it prudent not to forewarn the other about their activities for the night though, Harry would only be unnecessarily flustered and difficult.

It was easier dragging him along then fighting over the issue, and, dare he say it, more entertaining?

"Where are we going?" Harry asked warily, brow furrowed. "Tom?"

"**Preparation for your Horcrux."**

The other stiffened fantastically, and he hid a smirk, grabbing hold of Harry's arm when he seemed about to stop walking and falter.

"We're doing it _now_?" Harry was clearly trying to sound nonchalant.

It wasn't working, those killing curse eyes were filled with sickness and horror.

It wouldn't break him though, like Lovegood claimed, it couldn't…he had reacted rather badly to torturing someone…well, to the aftermath of torturing someone…the actual act had been a stroke of genius.

He supposed it had been Harry's first time, more or less, but, in his eyes, that just made it all the more impressive and he even more determined to cultivate the talent.

It would get better.

It was more than obvious that the other did possess a cruel streak, after all, and that he was capable of it. He just needed to learnt to blunt his conscience a bit.

It wasn't like the other's overall personality would change for it…he relentlessly pushed Lovegood's words out of his head again. What did she know?

"For Salazar's sake, you could have given me a bit of pre-warning," Harry hissed.

"No, we're not making it now," he relented, with some amusement. "I just need to test to see if you'd actually be able to do it. _Relax." _

"Meaning?" Harry questioned insistently. Tom tilted his head to survey the other, watching the sudden flash of realisation, and the way the other paled.

So sue him, he was sadistic, it wasn't like he gave Harry anything he couldn't handle.

He stopped as they came to the second floor girl's bathroom (he'd noted Slytherin had warded differently down in his chamber, and the normal wards weren't present to detect magic, however dark or illegal it was) and felt Harry go even more rigid against him.

"**Open. Stairs**_,_" he commanded.

He tightened his grip automatically on the other, at the slight step back Harry almost took a step back, before pausing, shoulders pushing back with determination.

They descended.

Harry's stomach was churning again.

This was so messed up, and, yet, he'd agreed to do this. He only had one Horcrux left, and he'd hunt Hogwarts for the last Horcrux tomorrow.

He'd checked, earlier, amongst other awkward conversations and topics, how Hermione's time spell was going. She was on the final stages. He supposed her job was marginally easier than Tom's, because Hermione wasn't trying to do anything particularly unnatural.

Still, everything was falling into place.

It would probably be a good idea to burn/dispose of/hide Tom's notebook of spells and stuff though, however much trouble he'd be in for it.

He'd do that tonight, he'd seen the other with it often enough, and knew where it was for Tom always kept it on his person. Inside jacket pocket.

He just needed to get close enough, and for Tom to let his guard down enough, for him to get it. Unfortunately, that required Tom being in a good mood, and thus, playing ball with the Horcrux thing. He shuddered.

He couldn't believe he was getting killing lessons! Ugh. If he wasn't messed up before, he certainly would be after this.

Mice. About ten mice in a cage.

"I can't believe your making me do this," he muttered. "What about the wards-"

"There's a reason I picked the chamber," Tom said patiently.

"What did you do with the Basilisk?"

"As if I'd tell you, I don't trust you with its fangs."

Harry swallowed, suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

"I can't do this," he said. "Don't make me do this."

"It's a _mouse_, your owl kills them all the time," Tom stated flatly.

"I'm not seventeen, my wand has the trace on it," he tried.

"That's why your using my wand…I dare say it would work well enough for you."

He stared.

Tom was actually offering the use of his own wand to someone else? To him? Wow.

He didn't have to be fully versed in everything Slytherin, or even everything Tom, to realise how significant that was. A wand was a Wizard's most precious item.

He took the item automatically, aware of how vulnerable it made Tom. The other held out a hand, and he presumed it was for his own wand.

He traded, though he knew Tom would have kept hold of both wands if the situation was reversed.

Tom's wand didn't feel quite right in his hand, but he could feel that there was a connection. He skimmed a finger across the yew, absently.

"It's not the mice," he offered, softly. "It's the steps after that…the humans."

"You have the whole world to pick from," Tom replied. "You could pick a criminal for all I care, or a homeless person no one cares about."

"Doesn't make killing them right."

"This isn't about wrong and right, I just thought those less unsavoury types might be easier for you to deal with murdering. Someone will end up dead, either way, as we do have a deal. But anyway, your skipping ahead. We're still on the mice stage."

"You haven't made one yourself yet, have you?" he questioned.

"No," Tom said, quietly. "As you well know, I fully plan on both of us returning to the past, making a Horcrux to tie me here would be redundant as the act would be distorted and cancelled out for happening in the future."

"And mine wouldn't be?" he asked.

"Your Horcrux is what will help keep you in the past, instead of plummeting into oblivion," Tom returned. "Different concept. If I was only searching for your immortality I'm sure I could come up with a method you'd find more agreeable."

"But seeing is I'm going to win, you forcing me to make one is also redundant-" Harry began, desperate.

"-And yet," Tom interrupted, "not having you make one, ensures your victory as otherwise mine is still a highly plausible outcome, and therefore, you're making one and a new deal is not negotiable."

Harry sighed, staring blankly at the mice, scrabbling in the cage.

All of a sudden, they looked so fragile, so fleeting.

"I just point the wand and say the words?" he questioned, quietly. "Fine. _Avada Kedavra." _

That horrible flash of green filled the room, and…nothing happened.

Tom glared at him in reproach, before approaching, placing his hand above Harry's, adjusting his grip on the wand.

"No," the Slytherin Heir corrected. "Don't be so crude. You can't just 'point the wand and say the words,' you have to mean them. You have to want your target dead with everything you have, and it's more of a sharp flick then a mere point. See - _Avada Kedavra._"

Green light flashed out from beneath both their hands, and one of the mice dropped, dead. Harry swallowed, wide eyed. Had a sort of…rush just gone beneath his fingers?

Harry would have let go of the wand in shock, but Tom's fingers were steady and firm around his.

"That was you…right?" he verified. Tom rolled his eyes.

"More or less."

"More or less?"

"Your hands are the ones touching the wand, Harry. We both cast the spell, I just had the proper intent."

"Lovely," Harry muttered. "Always nice to know I'm standing this close to someone who simultaneously possesses murderous intent."

Tom laughed.

"I'm disappointed if you ever thought I wasn't capable of killing you in under a second, even if I never proved it.""

Even more reassuring," he drawled sarcastically, trying not to think about the mouse, though his eyes kept flicking to it.

But he was aware of the closeness, if he turned, just slightly, he'd be able to reach out and grab the notebook. He never thought there would be a good time for Tom to creep him out by pseudo hitting on him, but it would certainly make it easier to reach into his jacket pocket…and then harder to run.

But that was always going to be a problem.

"It wasn't meant to be reassuring," Tom smirked. He'd gathered. The fingers loosed on his once more, and the other took a step back, slipping with an uncanny ease between professional business…and whatever their other thing was. Because that wasn't quite friendship, with the whole threatening death.

Frenemies? He snorted at the thought, earning a raised eyebrow.

"Again," Tom instructed after a minute.

Harry felt a wave of sickness. Sharp flick. Mean it.

"_Avada Kedavra."_

Tom sighed.

* * *

They'd been there for an hour, and Harry still hadn't managed to kill one of them.

He'd got hopeful when one of them slumped, but then it turned out the rodent was just unconscious.

There was nothing wrong with Harry's technique, his execution and wand movements and pronunciations were flawless.

It was the intent that was the problem.

Harry didn't want to kill, and probably had no subconscious objection to stalling, and so, the spell didn't work. He needed to combat that.

He flicked Harry's wand at one of the mice, marvelling at how well the Holly and Phoenix feather worked for him, even if it wasn't perfect. Harry shot him a startled look.

Mouse to rat. A copy of Peter Pettigrew, actually. A little incentive.

"Now try," he suggested. Harry eyed him warily, but flicked his wand at the 'rat,' eyes immediately hardening at the exact replica.

"_Avada Kedavra."_

The rat stopped moving.

Harry's eyes widened, and he stared down at the wand with an expression of horror. He didn't drop his wand though, for which Tom was thankful.

He walked over. Dead. A smile tucked the corners of his lips.

"Okay. I'm done. No more," Harry said, too quickly, eyes darting away from the mouse cage.

Though Tom had managed the curse on his first attempt, he was fully aware that this was a remarkable feat for someone with a conscience.

No one else he'd seen had picked it up so quickly, though he couldn't claim to have had another pupil either. Something like pride stirred in him when he surveyed the transfigured mouse.

Harry handed the wand back to him, not looking at it, and not looking at him either. He took it without comment, trading wands back again.

Nausea was rolling in through the link, and Harry had turned white as sheet. He studied the other intently.

It was honestly bothering him.

He supposed most people would have qualms about this curse. Harry would get better with it.

Still. Those green eyes were haunted. Beautifully haunted, disturbingly haunted.

And yet, a little changed from the jaded way they'd been before. Another chip at the other's purity.

For a bizzare moment, he mourned the loss.

This was probably the first time Harry had deliberately killed, outside of a battle, not in self-defence, to someone/something that had never harmed him.

"No more," Harry repeated, softer.

Lovegood's cursed words ran through his head again. He suppressed it.

This was best for them both.

Wasn't it?

* * *

That night, Harry opened his eyes. It was about four O clock in the morning, and everyone was asleep, their breathing heavy. He sat up slowly, his movements careful.

His eyes flicked over Tom, who was curled up in a ball in his sleep, clothes neatly folded beneath his bed.

Lestrange was whimpering in his sleep. He winced.

He crept silently to his feet, well used to sneaking about in the dead of night from his time with the Dursley's. He felt Nagini's eyes on him from her cage in the corner of the room, yellow slits gleaming in the darkness.

**"What are you doing?"**she hissed.

"**Keep quiet or I'll turn you into a belt,"** he ordered tersely. He went over to Tom's bed, avoiding the wards. He fished about. Notepad. Locked draw.

Crap. He bit his lip, so very tense, glancing at the sleeping Dark Lord next to him. His stomach knotted with nerves. He'd surveyed this thing earlier, and for many a time now, he thought he knew how it worked.

After about half an hour, he managed to extract the notebook, flinching anytime that someone shifted.

Pages and pages of Tom's writing, calculations and diagrams and thoughts and notes. It looked very complex.

This must have taken _months. _  
Tom was going to be so pissed off about this. He glanced at the other again, before looking back down.

Before freezing, and looking back again.

Violet eyes were open. Watching him calmly.

Shit.

* * *

A/N: Bit of a filler, sorry. :/

Your reviews for the last chapter were truly amazing, I'm glad you approve (?) of my dealing with Lestrange.  
And I hope you enjoy this chapter too :)

Much affection.

Still aim to do a DD oneshot. 3000 reviews and an anniversary one. Really stuck for ideas though. Help?


	139. Chapter 138

_Warning (some of you have asked): there are about 30ish (max) chapters left for Fate's Favourite, as far as I'm aware, unless something I've drastically forgotten or am inspired by drops into my head. _

Chapter 138:

Harry was frozen in absolute horror, his gaze fixed on Tom's open eyes.

He was so surprised he almost yelped. He was glad he didn't.

Upon closer perusal, he felt a sense of utter incredulous, hysterical relief and disbelief settle upon him.

It was a glamour. Tom's eyes were glamoured to be open, to follow any movement.

_He wasn't actually awake_.

Most people would have shrieked or started explaining or somehow make noise at the seeming confrontation, the open eyes, which would have woken the Slytherin Heir up for real. It was a defence mechanism.

Harry could feel his frantic heartbeat slowing again, and turned his attention, even more cautiously, back to the notebook. He wanted to laugh, horribly. Trust Tom to 'sleep' with his eyes open.

He shuddered, the stare in some way unnerving him even more now. He honestly thought he was going to have a heart attack.

He didn't know if Tom had another copy of this spell, he probably did, but Harry still felt he needed to do something. Besides, maybe he could wheedle Hermione or Marvolo into looking at it and telling him how he could sabotage the attempt. He sighed.

He didn't have much time left.

Lucius said Voldemort would attack within a month, from what he'd experienced with Tom at least, that meant his deadline was liable to be around two weeks away.

He had so much to do. And he needed to give Dumbledore a forewarning. As welcoming as his bed still looked, he dressed and, with the notebook and some other stuff, he slipped out into the very early morning.

* * *

Zevi startled awake at the violent magic that filled the room, deadly and dangerous.

He was instantly alert, tensed, his eyes flicking over to Tom, even as he dared not move.

His lord's eyes were blazing with fury, his wand clenched tightly in a white knuckled fist of self-control. He shivered, huddling further under his duvet, as inconspicuously as he could. He glanced over at Harry's bed.

Empty. Long departed. Back at Tom.

Oh dear. What had Harry done now?

* * *

Harry looked up as Tom stormed into the Great Hall, straight over to the Slytherin Table where he sat, slamming his palms down on the table. Harry was mildly surprised.

He'd expected Tom to wait until privacy, or the common room at least, which was why he'd chosen to go and have a long breakfast in the hall. Thankfully, most the students were still in bed, and not down. Some of the teachers and a few students were there though, and stared.

"_**Where is it**_?" the young Dark Lord demanded.

"Where's what?" Harry returned calmly.

"My notebook. Which you stole. Where did you put it?" Tom's voice was very constrained, enough to increase his already rather strained nerves. He smirked in response.

"Should probably keep more than one copy of important documents, you know," he replied, knowing full well that he'd charmed the copy he had to wipe any other documents it was linked with too.

He'd tried to burn it, but the papers were fire-proofed. And cutting proofed.

The next second hands were wrapped around his throat, suffocating, and Tom's face had an almost blank look to it. Harry's hands flew up automatically, but he forcibly stopped himself from trying to prise the choking fingers away.

He stared back as evenly as he could, ignoring the horrified gasps around the hall.

"Tell me where you put it!"

"Take your hands off my throat," Harry returned, albeit breathlessly, his head starting to spin.

"I should kill you."

"You won't."

Black spots were entering his vision, and Tom was glaring, murderous, and then…the other let go, shoving him back as if disgusted, dropping into the seat next to him.

Harry spluttered, unable to help himself, heaving in air, dizzy, smug.

McGonnagal had hesitated on approach to their table - she'd seen them in the past, so many times, he thought her natural instinct was to leave them be in all honesty, as other people interfering tended to make things worse and neither of them appreciated the intrusion to their games - clearly torn between her duty as a teacher with what probably looked like a serious murder attempt, and would normally be immediately prevented, and staying where she was.

In the end, seeing Harry was released, she went back again, her attention sharp.

Harry rubbed his throat, clearing it with a cough, before straightening a moment later, shaking the near-death experience off.

"Can you pass the tea?" he asked innocently. Tom's eyes were narrowed, but the next second the pot smashed down on the table next to him. "Cheers." He poured himself some tea, sipping the concoction carefully, soothing his abused throat. He could feel Tom's gaze on him.

"_**Where is it**_?" the other demanded again. "_**What did you do?"**_

"If I told you," Harry replied evenly, "there wouldn't have been much point to taking it in the first place. Since when have you glamoured it to look like your eyes are open while your sleeping, by the way? It's bloody creepy."

"I could tear your mind apart with legilimens," Tom warned, relentlessly, not rising to the bait.

"Sure you could," Harry agreed. "But that would defeat your objection to _my _plans, would it not?"

"Your plans…" Tom murmured, reaching out with lightning fast reflexes, tugging on the locket until it was taunt around his neck, not quite strangling. "If you don't give me back my notebook, I will ensure your plan can never succeed."

Harry blinked.

"Because you're so helpful currently," he said, eyeing the ring on the other's finger, near the locket. Nagini was in her cage near them, sulkily ignoring them (he didn't trust to leave the snake unattended or outside of his proximity, to many people's displeasure) and the cup was in the moleskin he'd spelled and invested in.

He wrapped a hand around the locket himself, just in case Tom tried to yank it from around his neck and in attempt to alleviate the way the chain was digging uncomfortably into his skin.

"I could destroy him, you know," Tom said, eyes holding his, not even glancing down at the Horcrux in question. "Your plans would be shattered."

"You took an oath not to harm those I care about, currently, I find I care about him."

"To care," Tom stated. "To be interested in something, to feel love, affection and concern for something, to look after something. Your relationship with Marvolo does not fit all that criteria, as though he interests you and you are no doubt concerned with him in relationship to your schemes, I know perfectly well you hold no love or affection for him."

"You can't relegate everything to dictionary definitions," Harry tried. "Example: love. You can love someone in different ways, and, thus, do not have to fulfil all dictionary definitions and criteria of love to love someone. Ergo, you can love your family without it being in anyway intermingled with, erm, sex."

"Not according to Freud," Tom smirked briefly, before his expression grew more serious. "But, regardless, your 'care' of 'Marvolo' is not sufficient to prevent me from destroying him. Can you afford that?"

"If you wreck my plans, you'll never get your notebook back," Harry stated furiously. "Then the timeline will implode, do you want that? No? I guess we're going with my plan by default then."

Tom laughed, coldly.

"Because you were going to give me my spell back - which, just in case you wanted to know, took ages to write - if I promised not to harm them, right? No. Give me my notebook, or you can watch the timeline implode and enjoy the feeling of knowing you could have prevented it," Tom said, voice nearly a hiss in controlled rage.

"You're bluffing."

"Oh contraire, darling, I _told _you, I would rather we both lost than you beat me."

"That's just petty," he growled. "Is staying in the future so terrible for you?"

"Is going to the past so terrible for you?" Tom returned, immediately. "And it's your method that I find objectionable, namely, you ending up with the ravaged mind of a one year old."

"Well, snap," Harry replied, infuriated. "Your method is evil."

"Please," Tom scoffed, with an utterly patronising expression on his face. "Don't be so black and white, it really doesn't suit you. There's no such thing as good and evil."

"Only power and those too weak to seek it?" he demanded, harshly. "Besides, you like dictionary definitions. Evil: a. immoral, b, something that deliberately causes great harm, pain or upset or c, malicious. Your plan is all those things, and, hence, evil."

"And your plan?" Tom returned, regarding him remorselessly. "Immoral - suicide is a mortal sin…definition of suicide, killing yourself and/or deliberately going against one's own best interests…ending up as a vegetable, hero? I would say that makes your plan immoral."

"T-"

"-Something that deliberately causes great harm, pain or upset…I have made my distaste of your plan completely clear to you, and your fulfilment of it would cause _me_ great upset. Malicious…intentionally causing another pain, **having your soul sealed back together is agonisingly painful, and often lethal. **Would you look at that," Tom said, too lightly. "Your plan is evil."

Harry glared at him. His plan was NOT evil!

"Well, your plan is _more _evil," he snapped. "More people are harmed."

"No one is harmed, actually," Tom stated, "conversely, I dare say those that don't and never existed would have less suffering or harm upon them. Well, I suppose you would be distressed, but other than you…now, let's look at_ your _plan again, shall we? I'm upset, you're better off dead than as a vegetable, Voldemort's probably better off dead too, thousands die with the weight of the first war with Voldemort, your parents included, and all your friends will probably also be distraught at your sacrifice. Sounds like your plan is more evil."

Harry had never felt so frustrated before.

"Yes, that's if we live in a world of dictionary definitions. Real life is a bit different-"

"-Give me my notebook," Tom demanded again, cutting over him, dangerously. "Or real life can end."

They appraised each other. Would Tom really let the time line implode if he didn't get his way? Yes. He didn't even need to think about it.

The Slytherin Heir was petty enough, certainly. His fists clenched.

Tom seemed to sense his advantage, like a shark scented blood, and pressed onwards, dropping the locket, only to place his hand on Harry's shoulders, fingers partially splaying across his neck, mockingly gentle against where not ten minutes ago they had choked.

"I'm pretty much done with my plans, golden boy, I can wait you out." Tom paused, head tilting in a tauntingly cavalier way, smiling with a debonair pleasantness. "Of course, I wouldn't wait too long to return my notebook, if I were you, considering we have a four month deadline until the world necessarily self-destructs under a time paradox. Unless, of course, you're willing to watch that happen, _hero_?"

Bastard. Bloody bastard.

He'd thought they were finally level, as he didn't have to worry about his friends (and they were certainly more evenly matched) but it seemed not, for Tom was still willing to cross boundaries he wouldn't, and couldn't. Ugh. Morality was oppressive, but he still wouldn't give it up or discard it.

Tom turned back to his breakfast, appearing for all the world as if nothing had happened, but for the white-knuckled tension bleaching his knuckles, and the dangerous air around him.

"Oh," the young Dark Lord added, pouring cereal in the bowl. "You'll be fulfilling your part of _that _deal tomorrow night."

That deal. Horcruxes. Tomorrow!

His teacup shattered.

* * *

A/N: So, um, hi =) I really hope you enjoyed the chapter…it feels rather old school, in that it's one conversation and moment, as opposed to lots of different povs. It seemed like a good place to stop though. Thank you so much for all the reviews - and I'm glad you are all enjoying the DD oneshots, those of you who haven't read them, feel free to check them out - they are very much appreciated. 

PS: I have discovered that it is tragically difficult for me to find other Tom and Harry stories to read =( I think it's cause I'm writing this with them as how I would personally view them, my perfect interpretation of the dynamic, and now I get annoyed at other stories when either Harry, Tom or both are too sappy or OOC or whatnot. Damn it! I've ruined my own genre for myself. T'is sad. I do still have some I like, and can read without characterisation bugging me, but…*sniff.* 

Curse Fate's Favourite. 


	140. Chapter 139

Chapter 139:

Harry felt sick, shaking, absolutely nauseous.

The last day had passed in a blur, as if speeding up just to torture and taunt him. His hands shook, his stomach churned. Salazar.

He kept _praying _Tom would suddenly give him another ultimatum, or anything, instead of allowing this to happen. He was terrified.

He'd spent the last day trying not to think about it, instead taking the time to warn Dumbledore of the oncoming war, searching for the Horcrux and studying Tom's notes in the relative safety of the Room of Requirement.

He'd considered dumping the notes there, next to a weird tiara thing, in a room utterly crammed with a strange accumulation of things that appeared lost, forgotten or discarded. Harry was certain he could have visited that room every day for a year and still found something new and interesting to snatch his attention. He'd even seen one of the chess pieces from his first year.

He hadn't had the time to get distracted though. Now, it felt like he had even less time.

In the end, he'd given the notes to Hermione, to keep safe. Tom couldn't harm her, and he barely paid his Gryffindor friends enough notice for their to be in any danger of him suddenly realising that the notes were in his friend's (warded, he'd taught them) trunk.

Hermione and Ron had questioned worriedly about the withdrawn, pale state he had lapsed into, but he'd kept his silence well despite their best attempts to draw answers out of him. He'd hardly exchanged a word with Tom since their argument at breakfast yesterday.

The Slytherin Heir was still pissed off with him, and he didn't think he could stand to be around such shrewd and psychotic company at the present time. He couldn't believe Tom was forcing him to do this, and so quickly too, he could hardly kill a rat - how on earth did the young Dark Lord suppose he'd manage to kill a human, an _innocent_, in cold blood! It was absurd.

It was punishment for stealing the notebook, he just knew it. Punishment and the time pressures they were both under.

He wanted to curl into a ball and cry, pathetically, but that would solve nothing…at least he had his deal with Voldemort just in case…Voldemort….maybe he could arrange for Voldemort to temporarily kidnap him? Surely he couldn't make a Horcrux then! And Tom, as cruel as it was, would also find himself distracted from the ridiculous idea.

Of course, upon his return the Slytherin Heir would probably be even more determined to stop him from having the opportunity of dying…oh this was such a mess.

His stomach hurt. He thought it might be nerves. Ha, nerves! Who was he kidding? He'd left nerves behind for full blown panic.

Merlin, this was a nightmare.

He felt someone come up to him, but didn't glance up. A small hand touched his shoulder lightly.

"Have you tried really telling him how you feel?" Luna asked softly. He felt irrationally irritated by the comment, too stressed out for it.

"Look, I get it, you think Tom and I love each other, but right now I really don't need you to-"

"-not about that," she said, sadly, and he came to an abrupt halt. He turned his eyes to her. "I mean about why you don't want to go through with your deal."

He stared, gob smacked.

"H-How do you know about that?" he demanded incredulously. She shrugged, her eyes intent, but not as sharply cruel in its piercing quality as Tom's.

"I just know things sometimes," she replied quietly. Harry sighed, before accepting it. It was Luna, after all. Who knew, maybe she did know something in a way other's didn't.

"He knows how I feel," he muttered. He'd told Tom how much he hated Horcruxes when they first struck the agreement, the other hadn't listened, and he'd always made his hatred of the things perfectly clear. "He doesn't get it. He probably thinks I'll straighten out and stop being a wimp, you know…after."

After. He shuddered.

"I don't think I can stop him," he confessed, voice hardly above a whisper.

The next second her arms were around him, not in the crushing, possessive way that Tom's rare almost-hugs were (like after Mr Weasley) but gentle, soothing in a different way. He may have flinched, if only for a moment.

He didn't tend to enjoy hugs all that much, but this one was…okay. Even if he felt a bit girly. Her hand stroked his hair, where Tom's would have gripped roughly, the tight as fierce as the rest of his hold.

He needed to stop comparing Luna and Tom, he really did. He closed his eyes, suddenly aware that shivers were racking his body, silent sobs of absolute fear and dread.

"I'm scared, Luna."

"I know," she murmured. "It's alright, everything will be okay, I promise…"She couldn't possibly promise that. He was pitiful.

Tom would sneer to see him now, no doubt.

He swallowed, harshly, trying to calm the raging storm of his tumbling emotions. He didn't hug her back, not daring to, knowing the way he would probably cling would shatter something so seemingly delicate. It would hurt her, certainly.

He stayed limp in her arms, but it didn't seem to deter her as it had Hermione in these occasions. He'd hugged Hermione before, but those had normally been brief, greetings, or from a time when he didn't smash everyone around him quite so much.

He used to be so innocent. Now, look at him, he was about to do the worst thing he could possibly imagine!

"What do I do?" he asked, over and over again. "What the hell do I do?"

* * *

Out of all the people Harry associated himself with, Tom thought Luna Lovegood was by far the worse.

She wasn't put off like any of the others, and held no fear for him, and simply followed him chucking annoying comments and psychoanalysis at his back if he refused to talk to her when she desired it.

And she'd kissed Harry. And slapped him. She'd harmed him, and kissed him, and Harry was far too fond and fascinated by her.

She was the most irritating person he'd ever had the misfortune to encounter - including Lestrange!

Her blue eyes fixed upon him despairingly with a shocking clarity when they met, and she came to a stop in his path. He came to a stop too, reluctantly, hoping she'd make it quick, only for her to _order _him to follow her, and be discreet and watch.

He'd debated ignoring her, but when she'd looked about to take hold of his hand to get her to come with him, he'd relented grudgingly. He honestly didn't know what Harry saw in her, at all. She was crazy.

He found himself pausing though, when she approached said golden boy, as he stood off to the shadows. He clenched his jaw. What was she up to?

He strongly considered leaving, but found himself transfixed in his analysis.

It was very rare that he got to analyse Harry without the other being aware of his gaze, however nonchalant Harry might react regarding his scrutiny.

His friend's shoulders were slumped, and he was startlingly pale, like a ghost. He also appeared to be trembling almost imperceptibly. He swallowed. Harry looked _terrible. _

What was the blonde trying to prove?

He almost stepped out, but curiosity swayed his movements. Lovegood placed a tentative hand on Harry's shoulder, to which the other hardly reacted to.

"Have you tried telling him how you feel?" she asked.

He stiffened. She was talking about him. The _sneaky _bitch. He felt a flash of admiration, before dismissing the feeling. She was talking about the Horcruxes, of course, but he felt the annoyance radiating off Harry. He smirked at the others response, the assumption Lovegood was talking about their "relationship."

In all fairness, the blonde did talk about it a lot. He settled down to watch, somewhat amused and taking more entertainment from the conversation than anything else, until Harry told Lovegood that he didn't think he could stop him.

He snapped to attention at the sheer terror that had infused into Harry's voice, the resignation.

He saw Luna embrace the other, and wondered if the girl was deliberately trying to provoke a reaction. He would be incredibly displeased if she was, not only for the audacity of the attempt, but that she was using Harry when he was obviously vulnerable to do it…if she was playing with his emotions!

Salazar, only he was allowed to play with Harry's feelings and emotions like that. Besides, though he would play with Harry's emotions on so serious a matter, he would damn well make sure to do it in private. His eyes narrowed to slits.

Now she was stroking him. Merlin. Bitch. Harry wasn't a dog, as amusing as it would be to drag him around in a collar simply for the novelty of it, and the priceless reactions.

Still, it was clear Harry was seeking the comfort. Most people liked comfort like this, didn't they? Even Harry. He'd kind of hugged the boy before, though he couldn't exactly call it mushy and entirely comforting. Except, it wasn't really a _hug_, but…a hold.

A hold was a good word for it.

Hold: a, to grasp something in your arms, b, to support (as he was sometimes doing when he offered that) c, to fix something in position/to keep in custody/stop someone from leaving/keeping something by force (always true), or e, to possess something.

Those were the relevant definitions and fit much better than "hug" which was like an affectionate _cuddle. _As if!

"I'm scared, Luna," he heard Harry admit, very softly, he almost didn't catch it. So quiet, a whisper, that he was almost convinced he hadn't caught it and had misheard something else instead.

Harry? _scared? His _Harry? About the Horcrux? Was that the uncomfortable twisting he'd been feeling in his gut since yesterday? Fear through the link? He'd assumed it to be Harry's guilt, for the physical symptoms upon him were often similar for both emotions.

His mouth felt dry.

He reminded himself that this was a necessary thing, and that even if it wasn't a good thing, he didn't care for 'good' anyway. Lovegood offered meaningless, paltry consolations.

"What do I do?" Harry stared at her, with the desperate eyes that had so often fallen upon, like when the other had negotiated aid for his Godfather's safety. He'd always loved seeing that desperation as Harry looked at him, it made the other seem so alive, and the power rush was intoxicating! "What the hell do I do?"

What indeed. Was Harry faking this? Had he plotted it with the crazy blonde? He'd have to test that.

He was doing the right thing. He was right. He was right, right, right. He had to be.

Had he ever mentioned that he hated Lovegood?

* * *

Harry entered the Slytherin Common Room, his features a mask to hide behind. If he was going to be stripped of his soul, than he might as well start by concealing his emotions and not having a mental breakdown.

He didn't know how they were doing this, but he suspected they must be leaving Hogwarts. Tom pretty much met him at the door, and soon, they found themselves on the streets of London.

It was evening, early spring. The air was crisp, but not freezing, and they wore muggle clothes once again.

He felt light headed with panic, watching as Tom's eyes scanned the crowd. Harry could just picture a predator stalking its prey, meticulously searching for its next victim.

He shuddered, drawing a glance.

"So, what do I actually have to do?" he asked, making sure to keep his voice low.

"All you need to do is kill someone-" Tom began.

"-Careful," Harry hissed, looking around him. Tom smirked.

"Notice me not charm, sweetheart, relax."

"How the hell can I relax with what we're about to do," he muttered darkly. "_All _I need to do, ha!"

He could feel the Slytherin Heir studying him openly. He shook his head.

"So what, I do the deed and you cover the rest of the spellwork?" he confirmed.

"Yes," Tom said. "Simple."

Simple. Right. His guts twisted again.

"Do you want to pick or shall I?"

"P-pick?"

"Pick your target," Tom said evenly, arching his brows. "Seeing as it's you I would suggest a homeless person or a prostitute, someone less likely to be missed. Personally, I'd make it a bit more grand, but…"

Harry could feel his shoulders stiffening.

"Are you going to be a bastard about this all night?" he demanded.

"My parents were married, actually, however coerced the union was."

Harry almost threw his hands up in frustration, wanting to throttle the young Dark Lord.

"You could at least act like murder is a big deal to you," he snapped. Tom's features closed further.

"And there was me thinking you were the champion of honesty and being true to yourself." The other looked at him, gaze dark. "Murder is not a big deal to me. It's just another means to get what I want. Here, do you have any money on you?"

"Money? Why would I need money?"

"You want to kill your whore on the street?"

Harry's eyes flashed dangerously, and he spun, nearly whacking into Tom in the process, pathetically almost in tears with fear, dread and self-loathing.

"Stop it, alright!" he growled. "I know you're pissed about the notebook but can you just cut it out with the bloody attitude. Some of us have a conscience and you are _not _helping!"

"I'll pay then," Tom said, seemingly ignoring him, pulling money out of his pocket, and walking callously up to a pretty, overly made up young girl in too little clothes.

Harry immediately just wanted to give her his coat to cover her up a bit, it was a cold night besides.

"Hello, how much do you charge?"

"Depends what you wanted," the girl said, eyeing them both warily, a smile pasting onto her face. The urge to throw up was increasing.

"An hour, in a hotel room." Tom shot a look back at him, before dropping his voice. "My friend can take forever to get started, but I'm sure it'll be worth it in the end."

Harry flushed a burning red with mortification and rage. To her credit, the girl showed no change in expression.

"Fifty quid in advance, and an extra ten for every extra you want," she replied.

Fifty? He had no idea how these things worked, but were people really that desperate? He tried not to visibly shudder, lest he hurt her feelings. This was awful.

"Fabulous," Tom smiled charmingly.

They soon stood in some - admittedly, not cheap like he'd expected - hotel room.

She sidled over to the bed, appearing only marginally uncertain. The Slytherin Heir set up locking and silencing charms with subtle flicks of his wand, fully ignoring the girl now. She looked so young!

"So, how do you want it?" she asked.

Tom was utterly dazzling as he swept around the room, lighting candles for the ritual and generally setting up. He was making no effort to hide that he was doing magic now, and the girl's eyes were growing wide.

"Lay in the middle of the candles," Tom ordered. The girl had tensed, rigid, looking about to bolt.

"Oh god," she moaned. "You two, you're not like some weird Satanists are you, look, I'm not looking for trouble-" she began.

"Lay. In. The. Candles," Tom ordered again, very clearly. "Or I will make you do so."

"Tom, for crying out loud," Harry snarled.

He'd just about had enough. He couldn't do this. Salazar, he really couldn't do this. He was going to pass out, or vomit, or…in seconds, the other had rounded on him, encroaching on his space, causing him to hastily retreat a few steps only to find Tom following him.

"Backing out of our deal, hero?" he questioned, too softly.

"Deal?" the girl squeaked. "What deal? W-who are you? What do you actually want?"

"Simple," Tom replied coldly, not looking at her, his eyes fixed upon Harry's own. "Magic exists and we need to kill you for a dark arts ritual to ensure immortality. No, it probably won't hurt, now shut up and lie down. Isn't that what you're good at?"

"I can't even kill a _rat_," Harry tried desperately. "I'm not backing out, I just literally _can't _do this, Tom, please, don't make me do this. It's so wrong-"

"All you need to do is point your wand and intentionally kill," Tom interrupted, flatly. "I will do the rest. It's not that difficult."

"I _can't_!" Harry said loudly, "you know I can't, you're just freaking punishing me for stealing your god-forsaken notebook, which, by the way, is _crap _as you'd do exactly the same thing if the roles were reversed. Well, I'm sorry, alright? Sorry I don't want to watch my world get blown to oblivion-"

"-Harry-"

"Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg, fine!" Pride writhing with agony, but fear and sickness raging even worse, he dropped without question at Tom's feet. "I'll even give you the notebook," he said, more softly, but still fast and frantically, staring at immaculate shoes, not sure if he'd ever felt so humiliated. "Just don't make me do this-

"Get up."

"-_Please, _I swear I will, but_-"_

"**Get**_**. Up."**_

His gaze flicked to the other's face involuntarily at this switch to parseltongue, able to sense the emotions in the the Slytherin Heir's serpentine tone, but not read them.

He swallowed, staying where he was.

The girl was huddled by the headboard of the bed, completely terrified, watching them, muttering to herself as if in prayer. Harry didn't blame her.

He looked back down at the floor, too ashamed to hold that unyielding, intense gaze.

Fingers, so different to Luna's, threaded through his hair, playing almost reassuringly with the strands, before tightening into a sudden, painful tug that hauled him upwards off the floor, simultaneously bending his head back to force eye contact. Tom's own head was tilted slightly to the side.

"You're right," the other murmured, velvety. "I am doing this to punish you, but, it also needs to be done. I will not have you die on me."

"Tom, please-"

Tom tapped his nail against Harry's bottom lip, twice, rather pointedly.

"Cease the begging, darling, it _really _doesn't suit you."

"And a destroyed soul will?" he asked quietly. Tom's eyes were narrowed as he surveyed him with an indecipherable expression, considering. "You must know I wouldn't actually be the same," Harry continued, "unless a change is what you want. I…you've been on edge all evening-"

"-If I said it was, would you stop whining and kill the bitch already?"

Harry faltered. Tom _wanted_ him to change? Of course he did, he didn't believe in morals. His jaw tightened.

"A deal's a deal," he said dully.

He couldn't actually not do this, if Tom wanted him to. They had a deal.

Steeling himself, nails digging into his palm, he held a hand out to switch wands again for the spell, rigid. He felt sick. Sick sick sick. He swallowed thickly.

He probably looked a right mess to the Slytherin Heir - Tom was probably deploring and disgusted with the weakness he was showing.

"What's your name?" he asked the girl, kindly, nearly snatching the wand out of the other's hands, walking over to her.

"T-Tracy," she stammered. "Please, Harry, was it? Just let me go, I don't want to die, and I know you don't want to do this. You seem like a good man, a noble man, don't let this happen-"

"In the circle," Tom cut in, indifferently.

Tracy was sobbing wretchedly by now, before giving a cry of shock as Tom flicked a wand at her, forcing her movement. Harry shot him a dark look.

Finally, everything was ready.

Harry was trying to steel himself, but couldn't. He couldn't do this.

He glanced at Tom for a final time, just for a second. Then he closed his eyes, pointing, hating himself so much.

"I'm so sorry Tracy. _Avada Kedavra." _

* * *

_A/N: Well, I suppose this chapter was kind of expected to be dark.  
Note, I know absolutely nothing about prostitution outside of the vague, horrible concept. _

_Thanks for the reviews, I won't say I hope you enjoyed the update as that feels somewhat wrong considering the nature of the content of said update. Erm, yeah. _


	141. Chapter 140

Chapter 140:

Nothing.

Tracy stared at him with bewildered eyes, but didn't dare move from the circle.

"Again," Tom ordered, sounding more patient now that he was getting his way.

"Does it have to be the killing curse?" Harry questioned, his voice utterly blank, detached. He didn't want to be in his body now. He didn't want to be himself if this was what he was doing.

"No," Tom said, circling them both, watching the proceedings critically, Harry's wand tapping a whimsical beat against the furniture "I just thought it would be easier for you considering it's a painless way of causing death, if you could only get over the label of 'Unforgiveable.' Feel free to switch to another dark curse - but, it must be dark."

Harry swallowed again. He hadn't thought of it like that.

The Avada was pretty much the only _painless _way of murder. Murder. He shuddered. He'd never killed another human in anything that wasn't self defence.

Tracy continued to weep.

He half-glanced at Tom, silently noting that in the Slytherin Heir's head, despite his terrible attitude tonight the choice of picking the killing curse had actually been a twisted token of mercy. Because it was painless.

Tom knew he didn't want to cause pain. But then, Tom also knew he didn't want to kill and most certainly did not want a Horcrux. Trying to fully figure the other out made his head hurt.

Those dark eyes had not shifted once to the poor muggle girl, fixed on him. He looked away, still feeling a ridiculous stinging sense of hurt to stir the already messy pot of his emotions. His stomach twisted.

He swallowed, steeling himself once more, his hand not shaking as he pointed the wand out this time. Remorse. Remember, he had to feel remorse! That was how this whole situation was going to be resolved, wasn't it?

He looked over at the other boy again, who had drifted closer to him again, back at his side where he had started.

"I hope you're satisfied," he said, quietly.

No. No. No.

He shoved all of his guilt and sickness and fear at the Slytherin Heir, purging himself of the feeling like Tom had with the prophecy, hoping it would be enough, feeling a chilling sense of calm slip over him.

Tom made a choked noise.

"_Avada Kedavra."_

There was a flash of green light.

Tracy dropped dead.

Tom snatched the wand out of his hands.

The ritual began.

* * *

For a moment, Tom was surprised to see the girl's body arch and slump, dead. For a moment, he hesitated.

Was this the right thing to do? It was integral to his plans, he shouldn't even have been having these doubts.

Harry's emotions weighed so heavily on his heart and mind, clouding and crushing them, filled with such intense colours of guilt, horror and sorrow that it was simultaneously delicious and awful.

_Harry. _

If he didn't do this, if he didn't win, Harry was going to be a vegetable. A little change was better than the colossal change of being practically brain dead.

He would only take the tiniest slither of soul, it would cost more effort, but he believed he could control how much he sliced off and split. Harry's guilt would help there.

He made up his mind, snatching his wand back, pushing Harry's emotions back to him now that the deed was done, noting offhandedly at the sudden green-tinged paleness of the boy's skin.

He dove into their connection, ruthlessly, as deep as he could go, ignoring the cry of pain from Harry at the intrusion and the way the other slumped to the floor, suppressing a whimper.

His own pain buzzed, like a terrible headache.

He ignored it.

Focussed.

He began to chant fluently in Latin, carving symbols into the hotel room with the girl's blood, and then cutting Harry's blood to mix with it. The other let him without thought, almost catatonic. He didn't have the time to worry about that now, though.

His spell work went on for a good half an hour, weaving complexly between charms, curses, runes and traditional ritualistic elements.

It had taken him some time to decide what he was going to use as the container for Harry's soul (the other was happy to ignore that practicality, it seemed, and to be honest it was better if Harry didn't know.)

It had to be something Harry would hesitate to destroy, even if only for a few precious minutes in which he could subdue the other boy, and he'd considered a Potter family heirloom. Harry would be reluctant to destroy anything that linked him to his parents.

The problem with that was it most likely would only stall him.

It would hurt him, but Harry would destroy any object, ultimately, in his martyrdom.

That left people.

He'd got the idea from the fact that Harry was Voldemort's Horcrux.

Harry wouldn't kill any of his friends, the hero complex coupled with the extreme difficulty the ex-Gryffindor had with killing even a mouse saw to that. Yet, he didn't trust any of Harry's friends though, and, in all honesty, he didn't trust any of his followers to this extent either.

That had left himself. He'd make himself Harry's Horcrux.

He was almost certain Harry would hesitate in killing him and thus the Horcrux, and, if he didn't, it wasn't like he wasn't talented and powerful enough to defend himself.

His own self-preservation was a stronger defence than any ward he could have done. The Horcrux would always be safe within him, and he would always be aware of it.

It was a painful procedure.

When the splitting occurred, they were both screaming.

* * *

Harry was convinced that this was the most agonising, excruciating thing he'd ever felt. He slid to the floor, in a foetal position, cursing that anyone would do this to themselves, damning Tom for doing this to him.

He realised absently that one must have an extreme amount of self control and will to complete this ritual. Most people would pass out from the pain, or discontinue to devastating effect.

Tom staggered around him, but he was numb to it, lost to it, harsh screams tearing from his chest as he felt his very essence claw and inch apart.

He begged for it to stop. To die. To live. For the pain to end. He could concentrate on nothing else, not even Tom.

When it finally did end, he felt dizzy, nauseas, incoherent to the world around him.

His eyes felt glued shut, he couldn't move.

He vaguely heard Tom crawl over to him, fingers fluttering over his pulse points and his hair. He remembered something vaguely about remorse, but couldn't bring himself to feel it.

How could he regret an end to the pain? He didn't really feel much of anything, half submerged in the black oblivion of unconscious.

"Harry?" he heard Tom question, in a soft murmur.

Fingers, blessedly cool on his skin, carding through his hair, though he didn't open his eyes. He tried to say the other's name in response, but nothing but a sluggish whimper and groan would slip past his heavy tongue.

He felt exhausted. He wondered how Tom felt.

The next second, he felt arms wrap around him, and a vague impression of motion, then softness beneath him. Sheets. Bed? Had it worked?

He thought he should take his shoes off if he was on the bed. No one but Luna slept with shoes on.

What did it matter though? Had the ritual worked? He was too fuzzy to see if he felt any different, he felt oddly wired through his tiredness though, like he was standing on the edge of a cliff.

There was a rustling noise, a dip on the mattress next to him, the silky slide of the sheets coming up over his fully dressed form, a radiated heat next to him.

A thought suddenly seemed dreadfully important, a comment.

He dragged up the dregs of his energy for it, not opening his eyes, voice a slur and mutter.

"T'm, we're sharing a bed with a dead prostitute in the room."

People would talk. He had the mad urge to giggle, and indeed might have.

"Sleep it off, darling," came the soft response.

He fell into the blackness.

* * *

When Harry next woke, he blinked his eyes sleepily at the light drifting in through a chink in the curtains.

The dungeons were oddly…he wasn't in the dungeons. He snapped his eyes open, staring up at white hotel room ceiling, before glancing next to him. Tom was fast asleep, no glamours or wards up around him, clearly exhausted and utterly vulnerable.

If he had wanted to, it would have been laughingly easy to kill the other boy. He stared for a moment, his eyes tracing across the Slytherin Heir's features.

Creamy, ivory skin that contrasted with a shock of black hair, muggle shirt crumpled on his form as he'd slept, curled on one side slightly, an arm tucked under the pillow.

Haha.

Who would have thought the Dark Lord was so _cute_?

He sat up slowly, so as not to wake the other, studying the room around them in the harsh morning light.

The candles lay guttered on the floor in great pentacles and circles and designs, blood staining cracks in the floor. In the centre of the carnage lay the girl. He snorted.

He probably should have felt more guilty about it, but it wasn't like anyone would miss her? What kind of trash ending up working the streets at her age, anyway? He'd probably done her a favour ending her miserable existence. Still, he felt a pang of guilt and sadness.

Taking life was never good if it could be avoided. But it couldn't be avoided this time, so he probably shouldn't feel too guilty about it.

Or so he told himself.

Best not to think about it.

Oh that blood was going to be a nightmare to get out! His nose wrinkled. He hoped the deposit wasn't too expensive. They would probably have to deal with this before they left for Hogwarts.

For now, though, they needed breakfast.

He slid from under the sheets, pulling them more firmly around the Slytherin Heir instead, noting he must be really tired in that he hadn't woken up from that.

He smiled slightly.

Then smoothed out his clothes to hunt for food and coffee.

It probably wasn't a good idea to call room service.

* * *

Tom felt a momentary panic at the emptiness of the bed beside him, before hearing the footsteps across the room. Harry was sitting in an armchair across the room, balancing a plate of toast, some orange juice, and a cup of coffee across his knees.

He blinked at the sight, eyeing the other warily, searching for differences.

Difference one; Harry was eating without any bother about the _corpse _a few metres away from him.

"I got breakfast," Harry nodded to his bedside table. "It should still be warm. Didn't know what you wanted, so I got cereal, toast and pancakes. There's also coffee, if you want some."

He slipped out of bed, taking in his own somewhat ruffled state with a hint of disdain. He flicked his wand to fix it, before padding over to grab a cup of coffee. He preferred tea, but Coffee would have to do.

He didn't take his eyes off Harry.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine, achy," Harry shrugged. "Marginally grossed out about the dead prostitute on the floor." That was something at least. "She's not even pretty."

He stopped at that, frozen, staring even more at the other boy. Harry smirked at him.

"I'm teasing you Tom, twas a joke. It's gross regardless of her looks."

Okay.

He was surprised by how disconcerted he felt. Still.

He concentrated on the link, to try and pinpoint the other's emotions more clearly.

Guilt. There was still guilt there, a muted kind, but guilt. It was pity, more than guilt. Pity for a life ended so early, grief for it, anger that he'd had too do it, but also a kind of reluctant acceptance and indifference above it all.

Turmoil.

Harry's emotions were erratic, switching every through minutes. He'd thought there was more pity than guilt, and now there was more guilt than anything else. Then fear. Overwhelming fear. Panic. Then indifference again.

He'd need to keep a close eye on the situation. Harry pushed his half eaten toast away.

"I'm guessing it worked," the other said softly. "What did you put it in?"

"I'm not telling you," he replied, equally soft. Anger flashed, and Harry was on his feet, in front of him in a few seconds.

"I have a right to know!" the other hissed, seizing his shirt collars furiously. He waited it out, meeting Harry's gaze evenly, and the next second the grip had almost loosened entirely, a token positioning of fingers, a touch, more than anything firm.

His friend's head bowed, eyes closing, swearing under his breath.

"What have I done, Tom? What have you done? I-I can't-why am I even telling you this?"

"Because your emotions are completely unsettled, like someone's shoved you, and now you need to find your balance again," he replied quietly.

Harry looked up at him again, that desperation in his gaze.

"But it will stop, right? I'll feel like myself again?" Harry's hands dropped suddenly. "Why do I even want to feel like myself again, the old Harry would be a mess on the floor by now! You know, you promised I wouldn't feel different…I suppose you always lie to me…"

Harry's face had turned startlingly ashen, as white as the bed sheets, breathing starting to sound more like hyperventilation.

He took hold of the other's jaw, tilting Harry's head back, forcing eye contact between them again to emphasise his solmenity.

"Yes, it will settle down eventually, once you've found your balance and got used to it. The rest of your soul is just overcompensating for the missing part, because you're you and can sense the absence. You are still Harry, still the same person. As for lying, not as often as you'd imagine, sweetheart, and, actually, I promised your core personality wouldn't change."

"And yet, I can stand in a room with the girl I murdered, unflinchingly," Harry spat, switching to rage again. He tightened his hold in anticipation

"You look rather on edge to me," he stated. "I wouldn't call that unflinching. You forget, I can read your emotions."

"You're being suspiciously nice," Harry noted, appraising him in turn. "Expecting me to snap?"

No, just aware of the possibility.

"You mean I'm not always nice to you?" he returned, with a dazzling smile.

"Am I likely to snap?" Harry demanded, his eyes widening.

Fear replaced anger.

Tom sighed as Harry sagged in his hold, looking as if he wanted to curl up in a ball and hide from the world again.

"You know I won't let you," he said, seriously. Fear was replaced by…something else. Warmth to oppose the chill of terror.

"I hate you," the other said flatly, without intonation or accusation, just a ring of truth.

He inclined his head.

"I know," he said quietly. There was a silence.

Something like a sob escaped from Harry's throat, so quiet, and his friend immediately turned away, hiding his expression. His shoulders were shaking.

"Why did you do this to me? _Why?" _Harry cried out, suddenly.

_Because I can't lose you, my sweetest obsession, my friend, my enemy, my soul._

"I don't suppose you know any good cleaning charms?" he asked instead. "I don't think the maid will cover it."

Harry spun, flinging a lamp at his head, glaring.

He smiled back, somewhat sadly, in return, and Harry's eyes closed, pained. He picked the lamp up, walking over, the near tangible dance of emotions in his head.

Harry's eyes opened to watch him, not moving back when he came close to put the lamp back on the desk, barely a foot between them.

Hesitantly, he remembered Lovegood's actions in the library.

"Would a hug help?"

"Screw you Tom."

But the next second, the other boy was clinging to him, fiercely, crushingly, painfully, with none of the reserve he'd shown before.

Tom shifted his stance to accommodate it, not quite sure what to do with his hands.

In the end, he mimicked Harry.

"Don't let me spiral," Harry mumbled, half in plea and half in order.

"Never."

* * *

A/N: I admit, before this chapter, even I didn't know what decision I was going to go with. Eek,. Bring on hthe fireworks. I shall go hide now.

In other notes, thank you so much for the amazing reviews (they inspired this ridiculously fast update, even by my speed standards) and oh...I had a thought earlier about how FF was almost over. I almost cried. :/ I'm going to miss Tom and Harry so much! (If I don't do a sequel, I don't know, I don't want to ruin a good thing with a bad sequel)

But yeah. HIDE!


	142. Chapter 141

Chapter 141:

They strode back up the gates to Hogwarts in the early evening, barely at the entrance hall when Luna came hurtling towards them.

The next moment, she came to a stop between them, staring at him, eyes wide. Then, blue orbs began to fill with tears. The teachers soon caught up with her, looking between them in utter bewilderment.

"Luna…" Harry began, helplessly. "It's okay."

It wasn't. It was. It really wasn't. Salazar.

His emotions swung wildly, all heightened, pasted over by the most terrible apathy, then indifference was torn away painfully like a plaster, revealing horror and guilt and self-loathing.

He hated himself. He hated Tom for doing this to him.

This was wrong, so, so wrong. But he couldn't seem to keep hold of the emotions long enough to stitch himself back together.

That frightened him more.

It wasn't working! Remorse wasn't working! Was he so far gone? Such a monster he was incapable of human regret? Did it even matter? Not feeling was a reprieve, and it wasn't like he was irreparably changed.

He still knew and felt that he would never harm his friends. That he would protect them. He swallowed. But that had changed, hadn't it? The protectiveness had risen, sharpened and twisted to something darker.

If Lestrange attacked him or one of his own now, no amount of morality would dissuade him from destroying the other boy completely, killing him for the audacity.

Bile rose in his mouth, before that, too was gone, replaced by rage. If someone attacked him or his friends they deserved the worst tortures he could give then, surely?

Except, he'd once despised torture. Once. His knees fell shaky.

"It's not okay," she whispered. "This will never be okay, and you know it."

He did. He didn't. He was so confused, torn into two. He swallowed.

"What has happened?" Dumbledore strode towards them.

The anger in him swelled, like a serpent rearing to strike. He turned away, breathing deeply, ignoring Tom's careful eyes and the incomprehension of everyone else.

"I'll be in the common room," he muttered to Tom.

"Mr Potter, the headmaster asked you a question, you are not leaving until this is cleared up," Snape growled, seizing his arm.

In a blur of motion, Harry's wand was at his throat, eyes gleaming dangerously, wildly.

"Get your filthy fingers off me," he ordered, in near hiss. "Or I'll remove them."

McGonagall gave a choked sound.

Rage pulsed in his blood. Oh he hated this man. He always made everything so difficult, always sniping about his father, smearing his memory. He was a Death Eater too. Snape's eyes widened to his immense satisfaction.

The next second, a hand fell on his own, firmly pulling his wand down, restraining.

"Harry."

It was all Tom needed to say, and his own eyes widened, his slack fingers releasing the wand in dismay and shock, watching as it clattered harmlessly to the floor. Oh god.

He had not just said that. He tried to back away, like a cornered animal, but the Slytherin Heir didn't release him, reeling him in closer. He clung to the other boy once again, somehow, inexplicably, feeling a calm settle upon him again.

Calm…Tom was calming. Tom could enrage him more than anyone else too. He was a mess, a total mess.

Snape's black eyes bored into him, as did everyone else's.

"Mr Potter," Dumbledore stated, "I think you had best come to my office."

He shook his head, wildly. No. No. His self-control was still too bad, too volatile. He hadn't settled yet. He would be better once he settled.

Once he could hold onto remorse long enough to heal himself.

Would he even be able to kill the Headmaster? Oh, bad thoughts. He didn't want Dumbledore dead! He held less fondness for him in present days, certainly, but he'd never wanted the man dead!

The old man wanted Tom dead though. Would he stop once Voldemort was gone? Or would he ruin everything Harry was working for because he was blind? Dumbledore could be a liability to him, to them. No.

He still couldn't _murder _him. Not in the least cause he wouldn't be able to against the other's power.

Damn.

That wasn't the right, moral reason to avoid murder.

"It wasn't a request," Snape snarled. Harry reared.

"I can-" _add your tongue to be removed with your hands, you know._

Tom's hand clamped over his mouth, preventing him from finishing the threat.

Luna was watching the whole thing with alarm, blue eyes shining with pearls of tears that slipped down her cheek. Eventually, they managed to leave, without the trip to Dumbledore's office…he'd flat out refused.

Luna marched after them, and when they reached the Common Room entrance, Tom finally seemed to relent to something.

"Harry, go in, I need to talk to Lovegood for a moment. I'll be there in a moment."

Harry resisted the urge to stiffen.

He had quickly come to the realisation that he could no longer trust himself. He dared not leave Tom's proximity, with the knowledge that the young Dark Lord was probably one of the few people who could restrain him if he did 'snap.' He felt sick with fear.

And yet, he wanted his old self back. His old self was independent and didn't cling to the Slytherin Heir like a safety net. He shouldn't be so needy.

Without another word, shoulder's squared, he entered.

* * *

Tom watched Harry disappear in the Common Room, with the same unnerved sense he'd had all day.

Harry had just followed an order, _another _order to the numerous he;d followed today.

Another change.

It was just because he wasn't used to it, because Harry was still in the settling phase. He'd get better. He turned to Lovegood, brows arched.

"He didn't break. I guess you were wrong."

Her hands clenched into fists, and she seemed about to slap him, but her gaze was sad, heartbroken and weary.

"It's funny," she said softly. "You went on and on about him being the strongest person you know, and disregard that now. Harry's got a will of iron, he's holding on desperately, clinging to the humanity he has left to him until his task is done…he won't shatter in one dramatic moment like your Lestrange. It'll be slow, torturous. A spiral of crumbs. He's crumbling. But he won't let himself break entirely until Voldemort is gone. No," her voice turned hard, relentless, none of that dreaminess there now. "Can you see the cracks forming, Tom Riddle? Oh how _could _you do this to him?"

"He seems fine to me," he replied, annoyed. "He's just getting used to it. Nothing more. No _cracks _or crumbling-"

"-Any person who doesn't trust himself will inevitably break," she hissed. "And you took that away from him. He doesn't trust himself, can't you see the fear in his eyes? The self-loathing? That's what will kill him. That self-loathing. That's why he'll crumble, because no one can live with that amount of _hate _for themselves and find the will to go on after they've tied up their affairs. He followed your orders, you don't find that different? He hasn't argued with you once since you've got here! You don't find that telling of his sudden dependence on you?" She narrowed her eyes. "Or perhaps you prefer it like that? His submissiveness? His complete lack of confidence in himself?"

"I won't let him break," he replied, his own voice quieter now. "You must know that."

"I know you'll try your best," she whispered, the rage draining again. "But it won't be enough. You're what's holding him together right now, but do you really think it won't be like poison to the both of you that _you _did this to him in the first place?" She stared at him.

"And then," she murmured. "Then he'll have nothing left."

She shook her head, turning on her heel, leaving him standing there.

"I told you not to do it. You should have listened."

* * *

Thankfully, it was late enough that most the crowds had departed for their common rooms, and Harry took an empty chair in the corner of the room, in the shadows, isolated.

He closed his eyes, burying his hands into his hair in despair.

He could have killed Snape earlier, killed him where normally his control would be better. His control was gone. How long until he hurt one of his friends?

His morality, everything he'd stood for, was lying on the floor in pieces like shards of glass, cutting deeper into him with every action.

He was an abomination. The soul shouldn't be messed with.

Technically it was only relocated though, it wasn't like he didn't have it anymore. It was still somewhat linked to him. No. No.

Those thoughts were wrong

. He needed to feel remorse, not automatically rationalise this which couldn't be rationalised. He pictured the twisted disgust on the faces of his friends and family if they knew what he'd done.

Was he even human still? A Horcrux with a Horcrux. At least he had that deal with Voldemort, the death vow. If he slipped any further, he would either go find the Dark Lord to end it before he went psychotic, or try and avoid it and die for breaking the vow.

He was terrified to leave before Voldemort was dealt with though.

Even more reason for his plan to work. Two birds, one stone.

He couldn't harm someone with no mind to do so, and the time line would be saved. Tom could go on to change the world.

It would be…perfect. Without him. Now he was just being melodramatic. Why did he need to die or be done away with? It wasn't fair.

Yet, he would protect everyone else, even if it was from himself. He'd been stripped to his core characteristics and a hero complex without the morality to counter it. He shuddered.

He didn't know himself any more. The face in the mirror was a stranger.

He twirled his wand in his fingers, before pressing it to his skin.

Remorse. He kept forgetting the remorse, distracted by everything else. Would he even care for remorse when he settled? Was this like some defining stage of how he would be? He needed to remember remorse. Red began to seep in his arm as he began to carve the letters.

R-E-M-O

His work was cut off abruptly, magic flickering with fury around him, a hand yanking his wand away. The restraint was less welcoming this time. He looked up, indifferently, to meet Tom's blazing gaze.

"**What are you **_**doing?"**_ Tom hissed demandingly, staring at his arm. "For crying out loud," the yew wand pressed against his skin.

As the cuts began to heal, he tore his arm free, halting the process, cradling the appendage defensively to his chest.

"No, I have to remember," he explained.

"I told you I wouldn't let you spiral."

"How can I trust that to be true?" he murmured. He felt Tom freeze, and glanced up with anguished eyes. "I don't even know who I am anymore."

"You're Harry Potter Evans," Tom replied.

"Harry Potter Evans would never do the things that have crossed my mind today."

The other seized hold of his shoulders, shaking him slightly.

"_Crossed _your mind, we can't control our thoughts. What matters is controlling out actions."

"Well, then that point's moot," Harry snapped, suddenly furious. "Because I can't control my actions. If you hadn't stopped me I could have seriously harmed Snape."

"You've frequently stopped me from murder and the like," Tom replied, fiercely, fingers digging in.

"**_I'm not supposed to be you_**!"

There was a thick silence, and Harry looked down, sighing. The other's expression had closed somewhat, unreadable.

"No," Tom said finally. "No you're not."

* * *

That night, Tom stared up at the ceiling of the Slytherin Common room, fully aware that Harry was lying wide awake across the room from him.

Lovegood's words and Harry's actions spun incessantly through his head.

Harry _had _clung to him a lot today, with an irritating and disturbing amount of reliance. He didn't understand it. The Horcrux was only supposed to shave off some of Harry's morality in return for his eternal life.

It wasn't like morality was that important, it was a created thing.

He'd _freed _Harry from its limitation, maybe Harry was just a bit confused now without such guidelines, but he'd settle down once he got used to it…once his soul got used to its new condition.

He could feel the soul shard inside him straining even now to go back to its original owner, though he wasn't sure how to describe the sensation. He kept it firmly locked in place.

Reabsorbing Horcruxes could kill someone.

Besides, he would fix it once his plan was complete. He had yet to make his own Horcrux, and, when he would, he'd merely slot it in the gap in Harry's own soul.

Then the boy would, technically, have a full soul again. His own, and part of Tom's to smooth the edges.

He just needed to keep Harry together until then.

And get his notebook back. Rage burned through him at the thought of the theft, along with a small tingling of admiration. He'd taught the other well…

Harry would snap back to normal, to being _his _Harry again soon, just with a smaller sense of morality and immortality. It would be perfect.

In their eternity, he would have all the time to work out any kinks or flaws in his method. But, for now, the Horcrux had to stay.

He wouldn't have done it to Harry if there had been another way, surely the boy understood that, he was cruel but not heartless. At least, not when it came to Harry.

He shifted his head, peering through the darkness to the other bed. The rest of their roommates slept around them. Green eyes were open.

As if feeling his stare, Harry looked over.

Their eyes met, locking for a moment.

He wouldn't break.

Lovegood was crazy.

He wouldn't break.

_Tom wouldn't let him._

The final stretch of their race had began.

* * *

A/N: Bit of a filler, but hey, it should be the last filler before the end. It's all rolling from now on. I think.

I have come to the conclusion that I really don't like Horcrux Harry. He gives me the creeps.

Thanks for all the reviews :) You guys are fabulous. I hope this event hasn't dissuaded any of you from continued readership. 


	143. Chapter 142

Chapter 142:

Zevi was unnerved.

Harry had changed; inexplicably, he seemed to have undergone a great transformation. He was trying to act normal, and especially around his Gryffindor friends his performance was flawless, but sometimes he slipped.

Tom's eyes followed him very closely, flicking up to check on the other every few minutes, though his lord was distracted by scrawling furiously into a new notebook.

He'd heard what happened on to the old one, and wasn't sure if he was appalled, terrified or impressed. Maybe all three, though he'd keep quiet about the last.

The scariest thing was Harry's sudden ability to take orders, and his subdued nature.

Oh, he still bantered with Tom, of course, and they still did everything they normally did, but…something had changed. Namely, though Harry bantered and teased, when it came to more serious stuff or Tom making morality-comments he just clammed up completely, looking lost and uncertain.

It made him shudder to think what had happened. He couldn't quite pinpoint all the changes, but there was something. Harry was acting normally, but it was with a type of desperation that just screamed he was more playing the role of 'normal' rather than feeling it genuinely.

His eyes…sometimes they just turned so cold.

In a bizarre way, it was easier to note the difference by paying attention to Tom's wary study of the other, and the way he hadn't started taunting about the other's sudden submissiveness.

Normally, if Harry for some crazy and rare reason went anywhere near docile, the Slytherin Heir baited and goaded until the other was practically bristling with defiance once again.

He sighed, before freezing.

Harry had just got up and slipped out the room.

Riddle, frowning, seeming to be in a moment in his work that required more intense concentration than others, hadn't noticed. Zevi's mouth felt dry, and he exchanged a look with Abraxas, wondering if he should be saying something. Alphard was flirting with Greengrass again.

It seemed like a betrayal to Harry to say something, but if something was wrong…and yet, Tom didn't seem to be in the mood to be interrupted. He dithered helplessly.

"What is it?" came their lord's voice, not looking up.

"I-" Abraxas seemed to steel himself. "Is Harry supposed to be gone?"

The Slytherin Heir's head snapped up.

* * *

Harry walked into the Room of Requirement, his stomach lurching all the way with the terror that he'd run into someone.

Like Snape. Dumbledore. Or Ron, Hermione or Luna. He shivered at the thought. He didn't want them to see him like this.

He knew he didn't have long before Tom caught up with him (and the other clearly didn't trust him at all! But then, Harry wouldn't trust himself either…) and so demanded the room block anyone else from entering.

Then, he pulled out the Locket from around his neck.

He'd decided that now that he would just try and remember every rule of morality he'd always considered before, and apply them, even if it didn't feel right. Surely he would turn out vaguely okay then?

He would mimic the boy he used to be.

As much as he wanted to hide from the world until he felt more like himself…and again, why would he want to? The Old Harry Potter had been pathetic with how hung up he was about moral…Salazar. He did not just think that. He ran his fingers across the remorse scar on his hand, nails digging in.

He'd been trying to feel remorse, he really had, and he knew he felt it, but it obviously wasn't enough as his soul wouldn't return to him. Maybe the fragment was too disgusted. Fragment. What would his Horcrux fragment look like? He wondered if Tom had opened it to find out.

Well, it was of no matter. It wouldn't help him now.

The point was, he didn't have time to shatter yet.

He pulled the Locket from around his neck (ignoring Nagini, as always.)

"**Open."**

Marvolo looked around him, noting their location, then back at him. Immediately, the Horcrux's head tilted to one side with appraisal as he drifted forwards.

"My my, you never mentioned this development," it purred, running what he assumed was smoky knuckles down one side of his face. "How's the soulless life suiting you, hero?"

"I'm not soulless!" he near shrieked. Marvolo's knuckles paused."I wondered why you didn't call yesterday, you're all fresh aren't you? Still balancing out?"

"You _know _about that? Does it happen on your side too?"

"Even more so," Marvolo stated. "We have more to get used to, so don't whine, child."

"Call me that again and I'll trace you a new shape with some fiendfyre," he snapped irritably. The Horcrux merely laughed at him, cruelly, circling him in a speculating manner, before stopping in front of him again.

"Oh, how you must despise yourself," it murmured. Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I have a deal for you," he said, instead. Bloody eyes gleamed.

"Do tell, _child."_

He lunged furiously at the other, only to go through the Horcrux's intangibly form, hissing in agony, collapsing to the floor. Marvolo laughed again, sitting down next to him, patting his head.

"I wouldn't go through me if I were you, it goes against the laws of nature for the same soul to cross like that, or even for separate souls to meet in such a manner."

Harry struggled to sit up, ignoring the fingers playing with his hair.

"Don't call me child, I'm not a kid. And stop touching me."

"But it riles you up so perfectly, how could I resist?" Marvolo returned. Harry wasn't sure if he was talking about the names or the touching. Both were horrible. "Now, come, what is this deal?"

Harry bristled at the patronising voice. He knew the other was doing it on purpose, for whatever reason.

"You're seriously provoking someone going through balance?" he questioned, trying to fish for answers. "I could destroy you right now, without a speck of hesitation."

"Indeed, and destroy yourself in the depths of your despair," Marvolo replied in a tone of amusement. "You wouldn't be able to _stand _not being able to play your game of Patchwork people, which you can't if you lose any more parts by destroying me. Your end game is why you made this change, after all, once it's done or obsolete you'll have nothing left."

Harry's eyes closed. Right.

Why was it telling him this? To torture him more, as Marvolo knew he couldn't actually control himself well, and so, with foreknowledge, if he did snap and ruin everything it would be that much worse. His fists clenched.

He rolled up the sleeves of his left arm, revealing the mark for the first time.

"I need you to get rid of this," he stated. Marvolo's posture didn't shift, though Harry knew he recognised it, having seen the snake in action the few times when Tom had joined them. He traced a hand over it, oddly, feeling he might miss the design, if not the purpose.

"And in return you will?"

"Get you a body within two weeks. You can leave the locket, live again."

The Horcrux froze. He'd offer token negotiation, but, ultimately, Harry knew he wouldn't be able to resist.

"You're confronting Voldemort within two weeks," it noted. "I'll rejoin with him. You would do that anyway, why should I agree to help?"

"You think Tom won't stop me from facing him and doing this, if he has the power to pin my movements so easily?" he returned. His plan would never succeed if he couldn't get more than however far from Tom.

"He'd destroy me if he knew I did it," the other returned.

"You wish to stay in a locket for all eternity then?" he questioned delicately, cruelly. "Because, as we both know, an eternity is what we have. This is mutually beneficial for both of us."

Marvolo was silent for a moment, eyes narrowed. Harry didn't doubt he had his own plans."

Consider it a deal then, _child_."

* * *

Harry walked out the room of requirement some time later (he'd scratched nail marks into his forearm to at least make an effort of disguising the lack of mark) to find Tom sitting outside, scribbling into a notebook.

"You shouldn't wander off," the Slytherin Heir remarked, with a cold strain of anger.

"I would have before."

"This isn't before. You're mentally and emotionally unstable."

He was worried. How quaint.

"So are you, _psychopath, _does that mean I should keep you on a leash for the rest of your life?"

Tom shot him a glare.

"Besides" Harry added, walking down the corridor, "if you're worried I'm going to snap, you shouldn't have done it in the first place."

"Where are you going now?" Tom demanded.

"To kill myself, _mother_."

The young Dark Lord's hand shot out, slamming him back against the wall. He rolled his eyes.

"Take a joke," he recommended, lightly.

"Make it funnier then," Tom hissed in return. "Since when do you make any jokes regarding parental roles to _me? _A few months back you couldn't even stand to hear me say their names._"_

Harry suddenly felt a crippling pang of horror, and blinked, and he knew Tom sensed it by the loosening of his grip. That had been an awful, _sick _thing to say. Why had he said it?

"I-" he faltered. Tom sighed, studying him. He turned away from the Slytherin Heir, disturbed and troubled. He swallowed. "Is this what it's like for you, always?" he asked quietly.

"What it's like?" Tom questioned, and Harry could just picture the confusion on his face, though he didn't look to verify it.

"The apathy, the not _caring. _The sudden irrational swings of temper and emotion."

"Somewhat," the young Dark Lord said quietly. "Though my emotions are more constant. I have things I always care about, and then things that don't factor for me as important, unless it benefits me to notice them." Tom paused. "You're not suddenly a psychopath, Harry."

Harry shifted his gaze slightly, putting the other in his line of vision again.

"I know, I just-" he faltered again. "How do you _cope? _How do you-"

"I've never known different," Tom shrugged.

"But you can feel my emotions, can't you?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I understand them or that they're not completely foreign to me."

Harry was quiet, biting his lip.

"What did you put it in?" he asked, again.

"Where did you put my notebook?"

"Would you tell me my answer if I gave you yours?" he looked over, eyes sharper now.

"Yes," Tom replied, surveying him just as intently.

He turned his gaze away again. Pointless negotiation. He didn't gain enough. Tom would have everything he needed for his plan if he had the notebook. Best to leave it with Hermione.

He began to walk away again, only for Tom to take hold of his arm.

"What are you doing?" the other demanded once more.

"You think I'm just going to sit around watching you complete your plans while not working on mine?" Harry raised his brows. "I thought you were supposed to be genius."

Tom's jaw tightened.

"I will curse you if you try and stop me, by the way," Harry said, offhandedly, when the other opened his mouth to speak. For a moment, Tom's eyes flashed with something indecipherable, before a smirk crossed his lips.

"_You'll _curse _me, _how are you going to manage that, darling?"

"It's quite easy really, I point my wand and say the magic words," he replied dryly. "Now, are you going to move?"Tom studied him thoughtfully for a moment.

"No."

The next second, his wand was in his hands slashing down in the Slytherin heir's direction, and the second after that, Tom had twisted him so his back was pressing against the other's chest, an arm wrapped firmly around his other wand wrist.

"You've got a bit to learn about being ruthless still," the young Dark Lord murmured into his ear. "One good pointer is to not make threats, it gives your opponent time to plan against you."

"You just can't help being a bastard can you?" Harry sneered.

"No one can, after all, judge not the son for the sins of the father…"

Harry huffed in disgust, bringing his foot back, breaking Tom's shin, causing the other to hiss in pain, releasing him automatically. He straightened, smoothing down his clothes.

He felt a pang of distant remorse to see the pain masked in the other's hands, the state of his ankle. He ignored it. He didn't have time for it anymore, resolutions be damned.

"More like that?" he enquired lazily.

Tom's stared at him, an odd expression on his face. He strode down the corridor without another comment.

"You really have changed," the other murmured, at his back. "You're…colder. Less of a mess."

He suddenly realised the emotion. It was that, more than anything, that made him stop, turning around again.

"You miss me already," he stated, brows furrowed. "You miss Harry."

Tom regarded him, unemotionally. Harry knew he was right though, and smiled slightly, viciously.

"You honestly thought I'd be the same, didn't you?"

"A lack of soul shouldn't change you that much," Tom replied. Harry laughed, somewhat bitterly.

"You thought I'd be him, just immortal, maybe a bit more favourable to certain practises, was that it? It doesn't work like that." His voice dropped, the mirth vanished, replaced by sorrow. "You kicked everything I believed in aside as worthless, Tom. I begged you to stop, I _begged. _Didn't that tell you anything? Didn't IT!" He was practically screaming at the end, before shaking his head. "No, you wouldn't. Of course it wouldn't. Because you're way is always best, isn't it? The _perfect _Tom Riddle couldn't possibly concur to the opinion of someone else, and he's always right in the end-"

Tom looked stricken.

"Harry..."

His eyes widened, his words catching up with him, his hands flying to his mouth. His eyes closed, a moan slipping past his lips. He couldn't believed he'd just said that. He'd never been this _mean. _

"I have a Horcrux to hunt," he whispered.

* * *

Tom watched him go, a strange feeling in his chest.

The Horcrux inside him strained again, bucking desperately to return, and that, in itself, told him something.

He would fix this. He'd fix Harry.

It was what he did.

As soon as he was in the past with a mastery over death…

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was trying to forget it, she really was, but she couldn't. It was never a good idea to get involved with the "Slytherin Duo" she'd noticed that in the past.

They sorted themselves out well, with their own rules that no one else couldn't possibly hope to understand. No one else knew enough to possibly try and mediate between them, and they wouldn't care for the interference either, the extra person.

Still, she was haunted by the image she had been met with.

The viciousness, the lack of control, hadn't been either the Harry Potter or the Harrison Evans she had known, for he had always been kind, well intentioned. He wasn't perfect, he was fully capable of losing his temper or brutally, but….and the way he had clung to Riddle, like a broken man.

It frightened her.

How could the saviour of the wizarding world be so suddenly broken? What had happened between them, when not even Voldemort's tortures had been suffice to destroy him so much? He'd been pale as sheet, flip flopping between personalities, as if he'd somehow developed a split personality disorder.

She didn't understand it. She was certain she didn't want to.

Albus had wanted to have them both taken in, despite her arguments to the contrary.

Tom Riddle was charming and handsome, she knew that, but she knew well enough what he'd become, and so what he could be like now, even if she hadn't been certain back when he was simply their charismatic head boy. He was cruel, she'd seen him playing with people. But, she also firmly believed that he somehow had come to care for the boy hero.

Whatever was wrong, if they left them to it, Riddle would fix that too.

She'd noted the expression on his face when he'd dragged Harry back from attacking Severus, the equally protective and restraining clinch of his arms, the whiteness of his face, the barest uncertainty in his eyes.

She knew Albus thought the boy was nothing but a pretence, and she didn't deny that he probably lied and omitted and masked his nature an awful lot, making promises he had no intention of keeping if they weren't under oath, but…he wasn't leading Potter on.

Every one she had ever seen with Tom Riddle followed him, except Harry. Tom didn't follow Harry so much that she'd seen, but he didn't demand submissiveness and he seemed to revel in Harry's defiance.

It was remarkable.

No, Riddle cared all right, as much as Tom Riddle could.

His sentiment was obsessive, twisted and dark, she was certain, but it was there, and utterly committed.

He wouldn't let anything bad happen to Harry, and so she solemnly believed, perhaps bizarrely, that her Gryffindor was in relatively safe hands.

Whatever this horrible event was, they would get through it.

She couldn't imagine that they would not.

* * *

Harry flicked through a book on the founders, desperately searching for some clue as to what the last Horcrux could be.

Gryffindor's hat…Gryffindor's sword….Hufflepuff's Cup….Hufflepuff's staff….Ravenclaw's diadem…Ravenclaw's…wait.

He skipped back to Ravenclaw's diadem.

It could have been any of the founder's objects, or, indeed, something unrelated to the founders and significant to Tom, but…he'd seen that tiara before.

Where had he seen it? _Where?_

He dropped his aching head on the table.

* * *

Voldemort rubbed a hand to his forehead, emotions slamming against his Occlumency shields, leaving faint impressions upon him. He remembered Potter's deal.

He could sense something was wrong, a slight buzzing of his magic suggesting that the oath was applicable in the eyes of the Boy-Who-Lived.

What had happened, to cause so drastic a change? It mattered not, ultimately, but he _was _curious.

The real question was whether to go and deal with it now, or wait until all war waged within the week to destroy the boy and the light side along side him.

He needed to get rid of the life bond too, and there was no way Potter would agree to the conditions that took it off…unless…his eyes widened.

Those emotions, the swing, the fear of a loss of morality…

A wicked smirk graced his lips.

Actually, this was perfect…

Five minutes later, he apparated to the edge of the Hogwarts Wards, seeking the other's…tattered (!) mind out with his own.

[[Your deal's due, hero. Come and meet your Fate.]]

* * *

A/N: I hate Horcrux Harry. He's so hard to write, I miss the old Harry :( But, anyway. The show must go on.

Note - I am no authority on psychopath's, so with Tom's personality I am somewhat guessing on some aspects. But well, hey, it's just Tom isn't it, nowadays?

Have I mentione you guys, and your breath-taking reviews, are fabulous? :)

PS: How do you guys think it will end? ;) Do you reckon I'll suprise you? Will it be epic? Who knows!

And what do I do AFTER? :O


	144. Chapter 143

Chapter 142:

Harry froze at the message to his head.

His _deal _was due? But he wasn't spiralling! Was he? He was…settling, balancing out. Tom had assured him so.

But his deal…if I have a huge shift in personality, turn against my friends and/or lose my morality. He'd never specified how much of his morality he'd had to lose, because at the time it was hard to see in shades of grey and some part of him had hoped Tom would pull out in the last second.

He snorted bitterly.

Of course not. In Tom's head, he always had to be right, which meant he couldn't possibly concur that maybe Harry knew his own limits better than the Slytherin Heir did. He supposed it came with the narcissism…though Tom was a very odd psychopath.

It was a sociopath who could form links with people, but then, a sociopath would not be capable of planning like Tom did and oh it all got so confusing. He rubbed his head.

Panic flared in his stomach, along with rage and resentment, fear and sorrow.

Though he was only on the tiniest spiral, he was on the edge of a spiral anyway, and that was all the oath cared about.

He hadn't made his specifications tight enough at the time. Damn.

Dying now would be so inconvenient.

Nonetheless, he couldn't refuse to, as then the Death Vow would kill him anyway. He walked out to the edge of the grounds, pleased that he'd hurt Tom enough that the other wasn't likely to come looking for him anytime soon.

Oh.

How exactly could Voldemort kill him with the lifebond and Horcrux?

The Dark Lord stared at him as he approached, no emotion on his face, and Harry didn't feel aware enough to try and read him.

"Sup," he said lazily, popping the p, when the other didn't speak.

"What have you done?" Voldemort demanded, icy scarlet eyes scanning across him.

"Made a horcrux." There really wasn't much point in being evasive about it, he gained nothing for the deception. "And no, I don't know what Tom put it in, ask him, maybe he'll tell _you_."

Voldemort's eyes darkened, but there was no surprise of his face.

"And you didn't mention this before your deal? Or think about it?" the Dark Lord questioned. "No, I don't suppose you were thinking all that clearly at the time."

Harry suddenly felt anger flash through him.

"What was up with you telling Tom about that anyway?" he asked irritably.

"You didn't enjoy the attention?" Voldemort smirked. Harry shot him a foul look.

"I'm not Lestrange, despite what you may think, neither of you are the centre of my world."

The other burst out laughing, a malicious, unnerving laugh. It was bizarre, but Harry felt a bit better, in comparison to the snake-faced man his soul was still relatively normal. The feeling vanished at the words that followed.

"Yes we are."

His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Excuse me?"

"He is the centre of your world. Your whole life revolves around him…or had you not noticed?"

"You're seriously going to make a comment on the relationship between me and Tom?" he demanded, incredulously. "_You?"_

"You forget I know quite a lot about it."

Harry stopped at that, frozen, before shaking his head.

"Have you figured out a way to kill me around it, and the life bond yet?"

Voldemort's head tilted.  
He tilted his own head in return, mimicking the gesture mockingly.

"I have no need to get rid of your Horcrux, knowing you, Tom would only have taken the smallest, harmless fragment, barely enough to survive on, but enough to fit the purpose. I don't even need to get rid of the lifebond, if you shan't die."

Harry's insides squirmed with a sudden horror, a revulsion, a terror.

He'd…be like Marvolo, essentially. A thing torn into immortality forever, but not alive, barely himself, unable to do anything. He swallowed. And he couldn't stop it.

Oh damn Voldemort was good, had he guessed before, what Tom's plans were, and allowed him to walk into this trap? He'd be forever out of the way, and it would an eternity of torture for him. Any sense of comfort drained out of him.

"I'd take you with me, I swear to that, I have your Horcruxes all set in place," he hissed.

A lie, but Voldemort didn't know that, and he found he could lie so easily now. For the first time, something else darted across the other's face.

"You're bluffing."

"Try me."

"You couldn't possibly stab them all at once if I were to kill you now," Voldemort snarled.

"You think I didn't tell Dumbledore?" he returned, smiling, eyes glinting like ice. "And you think Tom, if we apparently revolve around each other, wouldn't hunt you down and _destroy _you?"

This time, he was the one who was laughing, manically.

Before, he may have been embarrassed to drag Tom into this, but now…he just didn't care. He would do whatever would let him finish his job and live. It didn't matter if Tom would or not, so long as Voldemort believed he would.

"Tom wouldn't be in a fit state to challenge me," Voldemort smirked, with a gleam in his eye suggesting he knew something Harry didn't. He wanted to choke someone at the feeling.

"You'd end up dead either way, and he would be free to go and live his life."

"Without you," the other's voice abruptly turned quiet. Harry shrugged. That had always been the outcome, to his plan, anyway.

"Shouldn't you sound more happy about that? You've always made your distaste for us perfectly evident."

"Indeed," Voldemort murmured, still staring at him. "You cripple him, and it is best for everyone if you die."

"Then let me die, and I won't fight against you. I will not, however, let you keep me like _that."_

"And yet he's happy with you."

Harry froze for a second time, completely wrong footed. His mouth felt dry.

"What are you on about? The great Dark Lord is suddenly feeling sentimental? Going to miss me when I'm dead and gone?" he sneered, feeling a similarity to his conversation with Tom strike him.

Voldemort simply appraised him, almost exactly like his younger counterpart did sometimes, no emotion on his face, just coldness.

"You've been my obsession, one way or other, since I was sixteen and you were one," was all the other said, walking up towards the castle. "I'll see you at the finish line."

* * *

Tom's head snapped up from his notebook, immediately sensing the presence. The Common Room fell silent instantly, and his wand was in his hands in the same time.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed. How had the other got in?

**"The current wards won't keep out the Slytherin Heir."**

"Doesn't answer my question," he returned.

"Harry."

"Of course."

They surveyed each other warily for a moment.

"His deal isn't applicable," he continued coldly. "You can't kill him."

Voldemort smirked.

"Then clearly you don't know all the terms...what, he didn't tell you? And there was me thinking the two of you were close."

He didn't bother responding to that, for to speak would only confirm the statement, and it was stupid point anyway. His elder counterpart _couldn't _kill Harry... otherwise he would have done it by now. He inwardly shuddered at the thought.

Voldemort turned a gaze across the cowering Slytherins, pausing intently on Abraxas, Zevi, Alphard and…Lestrange., before settling on him again. He observed the other carefully.

Voldemort had a reason for being here, talking to him, he knew it. He just had to wait for the other to reveal it.

"**Can you imagine spending thirteen years as a spirit, lesser than the meanest ghost, barely alive, child? That's the fate in store for our boy wonder, but for thirteen years going on eternity. It will be torment for him…and for you. Risky tactic, making yourself his Horcrux."**

He stayed still, cursing his lack of standing in this conversation. He didn't know how much the other knew, whether the man had worked it out himself, or if Harry had told him.

He wouldn't let that happen, but to say so would be childish, and the other was fully aware of his opinion, no doubt. No, there was something else.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked instead. Voldemort smiled, an awful smile.

"I want to congratulate you."

He blinked, but allowed himself no other reaction, fiercely keeping his emotions and features under masks of composition.

"Congratulate me?" he drawled, watching the other bristle almost unnoticeably at the arrogant tone, though the smile only became a smirk.

"You destroyed him better than I ever could."

Any humour he might have had for this conversation, shattered, and he pointed his wand at the other, only to have the self same yew wand dig into his throat in response. Stale mate.

They circled, studying for any flaws, knowing that if even one showed, the weak would be shredded to bloody broken pieces.

"Oh?" he questioned coolly. The Dark Lord abruptly seemed to change the subject.

"You would also go to sickening lengths to save him. What if I told you that you could?"

His head tilted back.

"Then I would ask you what the catch was, and why on earth I should believe or agree to any word that slips passed your…well, I'd say lips, but you're rather lacking in that department."

He licked his own, twisting his mouth in a cocky smirk, tauntingly, knowing full well that the other envied him for his appearance, his youth. Rage.

"**Leave, become me and let the timeline run in its course, or watch him shatter…and you can't **_**bear **_**that, can you Tom? You're still too human to deal with him like I do."**

"**I won't let you hurt him." **Childishness be damned, he was making that clear.

**"I don't need to hurt him,"** his elder returned, immediately.** "You've done such a magnificent job of it yourself. Can you even comprehend what you've done to him? You judge his capacity of unpleasant things by how much he can take from me, but don't you see…it's because it's from **_**you **_**that it would destroy him. He's in love with you, you know."**

"**Don't be deluded-" **he began, witheringly.

"It matters not, ultimately," Voldemort dismissed him, but there was a cruel spark in his eyes. "But…if you do as I request, now, I will spare him."

"You never would before."

Voldemort was feeling the pressure, obviously, he wasn't sure he would win, which was why he was forced to lower himself to negotiation.

"**You would get to keep him too, for all eternity."**

They would be one and the same, in a manner of speaking, if he became Voldemort. Enticing, but, he would have that without the other's help. He didn't share, and he wouldn't share with this pathetic shadow of who he could be.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I will destroy him."

"I'll kill you."

"It wouldn't bring him back to you though," the other said slyly.

Tom could feel a fierce, violent fury building up inside him, boiling his blood.

"**He would never be with **_**you**_**, he hates you, does that hurt you? Is that why you're so obsessed with ruining us? With killing him? You can't stand to look at what you want knowing you will **_**never**_** have it again!"**

Voldemort's aura lashed out at him, no spells, just a crash of painful magic that he met with his own.

"That's a no, then," Voldemort breathed after a moment.

Harry was his. Always his. Not anyone else's. He would never willingly spare even a corner of his friend for anyone else.

"I'll give you my answer within two days," he replied. He needed time to complete his plans, his spell. He couldn't have the Dark Lord ruin things now.

Voldemort inclined his head after a moment, eyes narrowed. The man _needed _this, he couldn't resist, for Tom was his creator.

Hook, line, sinker.

The Dark lord left the way he came.

* * *

A/N: Can you feel...the tension building? :)

Regarding Post Fate's Favourite, I think I shall write Past's Player, rewriting everything I've done on it so far and starting from scratch though, as i loathe the current version for its crappy quality. I feel ashamed to have it under my name, I feel I've improved so much since then. What do you guys think of the Name Providence's Prince?  
(Providence is another word for Fate, if you didn't know)

Anyway, enjoy, and, at least enjoy the quick update if nothing else. Thank you for the amazingly awesome reviews :D


	145. Chapter 144

Chapter 143:

Lord Voldemort strode down the corridor, his thoughts whirling.

He felt on edge, uncertain of his own future of even of his own creation. He hated it. He didn't doubt his actions though. Harry Potter would be destroyed if he was defeated…and if he won, if Tom conceded to become him (and then, he was ultimately in control wasn't he?) he could do what he wanted.

That included keeping his obsession.

Naturally, it wouldn't be the same, but neither was he, and he didn't want the same things anymore. Tom wanted to protect the boy from harm more than he want to make him suffer (though he knew the latter desire was there too.) He wasn't so juvenile, or so human, to make himself pick.

So long as Harry was alive, he would suffer, suspending forever on the edge of breaking entirely.

The longest game he'd ever played.

He just needed to win first.

Dumbledore and his little teaching crew charged to block his path, and he almost smiled. The old man may have been Headmaster, but he knew far more about how Hogwarts worked.

The wards couldn't possibly keep out all that meant students serious harm, children were petty and couldn't control their own malicious intentions. They recognised he wasn't a student though, not anymore, and he could feel them pressing and swirling around them.

If he moved severely against anyone within these walls, the castle would boot him out, its indulgence over his status of heir disregarded. Until then…he delighted in the fact that their was nothing Dumbledore could do, unless he erected his own wards and defences.

"Albus," he greeted with a smirk. "How are things at the ministry?"

"Tom."

He barely caught his eyes from narrowing at the name.

"What are you doing here?" the man demanded, voice like ice.

"Studying, learning," he replied, mockingly tipping his head. "Is that not what one does in a school?"

The next second, the elder wand was in his face, a curse billowing at the end, and the moment after that, there was a blur in front him before he could blink, shoving him aside. The corridor behind them smashed.

Dumbledore's wand dug into Potter's throat and Potter's wand was directed back.

He felt a moment of absolute shock, and saw it mirrored upon the eyes of every single teacher in the proximity. The younger had appeared out of nowhere.

"Harry-" Dumbledore began.

"He was just leaving," Potter said coldly, before glancing at him. "Weren't you?"

"Indeed," he replied, quietly.

"What are you _doing?" _Dumbledore questioned furiously.

Harry simply raised his brows, no expression on his face.

"Why are you protecting him?" Minerva near shrieked, looking appalled. "He's not-"

Harry's eyes darkened very suddenly, and he lunged on instinct, catching the boy's wand hand before he could attack. She'd been about to say 'he's not Tom.'

It was dangerous to talk about the two of them in the same conversation with Harry, he noticed - probably a remnant from his own nightly tortures upon the boy - and especially now, it wasn't a good idea to push the child.

_He _could, Harry expected it from him, probably took comfort from it even, but no one else could. Harry hissed in pain at his touch, but he only tightened his grip. The pain would be grounding to the other, masochist or not.

After a moment, Potter's eyes cleared again, flashing with too many emotions. He kept the boy in front of him, wrapping an arm more firmly around his torso.

Harry didn't struggle, no doubt guessing what he was doing well enough. Hostage until they were outside. Indeed, the other shot him a vaguely amused look, if not still full of hatred.

"**Coward."**

"Did you know about your Golden Boy's Horcrux?" he returned sweetly, his rage flaming abruptly.

Both Dumbledore and Severus froze.

"W-what?" Dumbledore looked truly shaken, turned ashen.

The next second, an elbow dug viciously into his ribs, hard enough to bruise it, a foot smashing on top of his, and the smaller form twisted away from his grip.

Harry's expression was murderous, purely murderous. Students were being ushered away from around them, terror upon their faces. He noted Potter glance at them, and the glint that appeared in his eyes. The other fished a locket from around his neck.

_His Horcrux._

Then the infuriating brat raised his voice.

"Oi, oi, listen up people - yes, you too Boot."

"What-" he began.

"Voldemort has seven Horcruxes that make him immortal. This is one of them," Harry announced loudly, ensuring he would _never _be safe again. He lunged for the other, only for Harry to dodge out of his way, continuing, eyes never leaving his, viciously. "The others are a diary, which is destroyed, his snake, Hufflepuff's cup, a ring belonging to the Slytherin family and a diadem belonging to Ravenclaw. If you want him dead, if he wins the war, go hunt them down and destroy them - okay?"

The boy smiled, far too cheerily. They glared at each other.

"I believe you were leaving," Harry reminded, softly. He narrowed his eyes.

"Do you know what interests me-" he began.

"Me."

He sneered in response to the brash statement, the even more arrogant grin. Then, he returned it, leaning forward, patting the other's head.

"Of course, _darling,_ you're my other Horcrux. Don't forget to kill him too, old man."

Potter snarled, and he laughed, striding away.

"Two days," he called behind his back.

"I'll be there."

* * *

Harry's heart was pounding with absolute fury and sickness. Dumbledore was staring at him with utter horror and disappointment. He stared back impassively.

"Well, as pleasant as this has been-"

"My office. _Now." _

"I have stuff to do."

"THIS ISN'T JOKE!" The Headmaster roared, wand pointing a wand at him. Harry's head tilted. How…out of character.

"I gathered," he spat, rearing. "Do you think I wanted it? Do you think I wanted _any_of this. But for crying out loud have a bit of perspective - the world is about to be blown up and you want to have a _chat _in your office?" he burst out laughing.

"What I want to know is-" Snape started, venomously.

"-How much wood could a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood?"

He flashed another, disarming, smile, before continuing.

"If you have anything useful to say that I can't already think of myself, speak now, if not, adios. I have stuff to do."

He spun sharply, storming away.

He needed to find a way to deal with Dumbledore. He'd noted the wand too, the elder wand. He could use that. Then he'd have the wand, the cloak, and he would soon have the ring, and so, being Master of Death, could persuade Tom to let him remove his Horcrux.

But for now, he needed that Diadem. Desperately. And, it was the Diadem, for otherwise Voldemort would have called him up on it, or just killed him on the spot.

Think. _Think._

Where was the Diadem? Where was it? It was in Hogwarts, he was sure of it. He just didn't know where. But he'd seen it. That, he was sure of too. Where did he go that he could have seen-oh.

It was the room of requirement, of course it was…he remembered Tom's hesitance when he talked of how many Horcruxes were in the room. He'd hesitated on the number five. There was another Horcrux in the room of requirement.

But, it wouldn't have been in any of his normal hot spots. So…oh…stupid! When he was considering dumping Tom's notes.

Next to an old tiara! It was the Diadem!

He quickened his pace, not having the time to waste. Get the tiara, and then set everything up for the final showdown. The finishing line.

He needed to get Dumbledore off his case, so he had room to work, and he needed to set things up for…after. For the first time, he shuddered, a splinter of terror driving through his heart.

He wouldn't feel anything when he was done, but doing it would be agony. That wasn't important now though. He needed to sort things out, and deal with Tom.

Tom _would _try to stop him, and, normally, he would revel in the challenge and the fight and the push and pull power. But, this time, he didn't have the luxury of play.

He'd get Hermione and Ron onboard, get them to stun the Slytherin Heir when Tom was busy with him, and Zevi and Abraxas, in case Tom suspected.

He'd imperio them if he had to.

He also needed to check Hermione had the final points down on the time spell.

It would all fall into place. He could feel deadlines crashing around him, not much time at all.

He thought he might only have a day or two before everything ended, for Voldemort's trip had seemed spontaneous…he just felt it in his , everything would be over. His chapter would close.

"Harry."

He stopped at the call, at Tom.

He didn't have the luxury of playing anymore, time was too short, but…this was Tom. He could find the minutes this one last time, just to have fun with their game, before everything turned all too serious.

The Slytherin Heir caught up with him, eyes like steel and ice, suspecting nothing of his goodbye.

The other was still angry with him…and was looking at him oddly.

"What?" he asked.

"You stopped. You never stop," Tom said flatly.

"I thought I'd try a new tactic, shake things up a bit," he replied blandly.

"Well, that's a change indeed. For the last day or so you've been clinging to me and normalcy like a lost puppy, growing your independence back, are we?"

His eyes narrowed to slits at the jab. _How dare he? _

"You didn't enjoy the feeling of being needed?" he returned, snidely. Tom approached him, and he stepped back before he could help himself, some part of him not trusting himself, before holding.

What did morality matter, when he'd be prevented from any spiral within the week, anyway?

"You still need me," Tom replied, with that smirk. "I just much prefer it when you also have a spine. Less pathetic. Less…Lestrangey?"

He nearly hissed at the other, no words, just savagery.

Tom's eyes glittered.

"You really can't control your emotions at all, can you?" he murmured. "Not now. Before…you were starting to get the hang of it, but now-"

"And who's fault is that?" he growled.

This conversation wasn't going right. Tom's jabs were too…pointed. They played with words an awful lot, but most of the time they also refrained from cutting at certain points, more…carving. Moulding each other, pinning flags and victories. They didn't…do this.

Tom never targeted their dynamic like this. His personality and his plans, all the time, but _them_?

He felt uneasy. It probably showed all too clearly.

"You're the one who can't take the strain," Tom replied dismissively, scorn in his voice.

Harry turned away, only for a hand to lash out like a cobra, seizing his shoulder, spinning him around again, fingers digging into his skin, his pulse.

"Why did you stop?" Tom demanded, softly. "And how are you still alive after your rendezvous with Voldemort?"

"Is that what this about? Jealous, Tom?"

"No," Tom replied, voice too light. "I dare say that's him."

"_Excuse me?"_

"He thinks you're in love with me, by the way."

"And did you believe him?" he returned, making sure to edge a sharp shard pity into his voice.

Tom's fingers tightened.

"You're crueller like this," the other noted.

"It comes with the territory. Improvement?"

"Not really."

Harry felt a pang of shock, of irrational panic, and shoved the other away from him more violently. This was a crappy conversation.

Tom lunged back, fingers tangling into his hair, baring his throat in a parody of their hotel room conversation.

"I don't like this new Harry at all," Tom told him, slowly. "You're more brutal, perhaps, but now…now you're just like everybody else. I never realised what it was before, the challenge, before it was gone…and now I think I know-"

"-Let _go _of me-"

"You were the complete opposite of me, and yet, so similar." Tom's hand slid down, playing with the Locket, not letting him pull away, lips moving to his ear. "If I wanted to see my reflection, I'd look in the mirror. Pull yourself together, hero."

The next second Tom was gone, and he stood there, utterly shaken and not sure why. His hands were trembling. Had Tom actually just -?

He felt numb.

Was Tom _bored _of him? Typical. Figures, the second he became what Tom wanted to make him, the other sodded off. He supposed he'd always been warned.

Tom played until he thought he'd won, and got everything he wanted. Until he found the "blackest parts" of someone, and moved onto something shinier, less tarnished and damaged. He just…damn.

He closed his eyes, tucking the locket back beneath his shirt.

Right. Well.

Diadem.

Room of Requirement.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was deeply troubled, his head buried into his hands, the tick of his clock far too loud in the silent office.

How had things escalated this far? He felt completely out of his depth, and he wasn't used to it.

Harry had tied his hands together in that deal which, he, foolishly, thought he could control. He thought he could control Harry.

He should have known better.

Oh Harry…he still remembered the bright eyed, relatively innocent boy who had first walked into Hogwarts, so eager to please and endearing enough to most. He was supposed to be their saviour. He was supposed to die, and then come back to life, and live and everything would be perfect.

Voldemort would be gone, forever. The light side would be consolidated in its power, and he'd have a powerful wizard to shape into taking his mantle when he was gone.

He'd liked the boy, despite what a more cynical person may have thought. Now…a Horcrux? Bile rose in his mouth. He could just watch everything spiralling around him, crumbling in the dust.

All because of Tom Riddle.

He hated that boy more than anything. He was a piercing reminder of his own past, of his muggle-killing father, of his own plans with Gellert.

Watching Tom with Harry was like watching himself get tugged about under the thrall of Gellert Grindewald, of the hope that someone understood completely, someone who recognised him for what he was. He'd been naïve.

Gellert had forsaken him for power, and Riddle would do the same.

Oh, they would be around when it suited them, but in the end, they would leave and expect the same person to still be waiting or helping. His fists clenched. He couldn't watch history repeat itself like this, he couldn't. He just didn't know what to do right now.

He could do nothing against Harry…but he could kill Tom. He'd considered it many times since the Slytherin Heir haunted his halls again, but he'd always stopped.

It was a dangerous thing to meddle with time, after all.

And yet…what other outcomes were there? That he let that boy, either of his variations, destroy everything that he'd hoped and dreamed and worked for? No.

He wouldn't be able to tell the difference, certainly, and would simply have a second chance from the year 1942. The year everything went wrong, or began to. He was certain that was when it started.

Now, he merely needed to find the best way to do it.

* * *

Harry grasped the Diadem carefully, scarcely daring to believe it.

He tucked it in his moleskin with all the others, before heading towards Gryffindor Tower.

Soon….

For now, he had some letters to write, and some plans to finalise.

A letter for Hermione. A letter for Ron.  
A letter for Zevi, Abraxas and Alphard.  
A letter for Sirius and Remus.

And a letter for Tom.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, you guys are amazing!_

_About chapter length, as some of you say you'd prefer longer chapters less frequently...I'll bear it in mind for the next story I write :) But it's a bit late now, isn't it? To complain? Anyway. I update chapters by how 'endy' the last bit sounds, and yeah. Anyway. Next time!_


	146. Chapter 145

Chapter 144:

Tom resisted the urge to rub his headache away, frowning down at his notepad.

The ring, his safety, glittered upon his finger.

Harry couldn't do something stupid without the ring, and he would never willingly relinquish it to the other. The time spell was almost done, he just hoped it would be done in time.

He sighed, infuriated by how distracted he felt. Harry. Harry was so bloody inconvenient for productivity, he always limited it by at least fifty percent.

When he was there, he was either helpful, or, at least in part, incredibly distracting to be around with his schemes and his games and his challenged.

Yet, the other _not _being there was equally distracting, as though he didn't have the ex-Gryffindor playing with him, he instead had to wonder what the other boy was up to _instead. _

It was maddening. He'd never used to be like this. It wasn't that he couldn't work without Harry there anymore, he could, and normally was more than content to wile hours not playing actually doing some work while his friend was otherwise occupied…but it was the closeness of their deadline, and the way they had parted, that lingered so heavily and annoyingly on his thoughts.

What he did has been reasonable, utterly logical and calculated.

He needed Harry pushed back a bit so he had time to think with a clear head and finish his spell without having to constantly stop the other from attempting to destroy his work again.

The former was failing miserably.

He couldn't stop thinking about it, the shock and frosting over of green eyes when he called Harry "Lestrangey" and all else that he'd said. He may not have been as careful as he normally was.

Voldemort had shaken him more than he cared to admit, and Harry's own actions hadn't helped.

Why. Had. He. Stopped? Harry _never _stopped when he called him, he slowed down to allow them to walk together often enough, but he never stopped so abruptly and obediently.

It wasn't how they did things.

It was very suspicious.

So maybe his words had been harsher than normal, but Harry was annoying him. Breaking like that, crumbling…he wasn't allowed! That was why he'd pushed like that, wasn't it?

Wasn't it?

Anger and a need to push the other away from him. Harry was a liability to have around, a weakness he could scarcely afford on the brink of battle as Voldemort had so adamantly shown him…had he really destroyed Harry?

Probably. He broke everything he touched, and everything he got close to, he didn't know when he'd expected Harry to be different.

_Except that he was._

What had Voldemort even been going on about? Harry wasn't in love with him - that was absurd! He'd know if the other boy was. This was such a mess.

He hated messes, he preferred to stand neatly above human relationships and play puppet master…and now, he was tangled!

The irony, the bitter irony!

When had the strings got wrapped so tightly between him and Harry? It was odd, he'd invested a lot of time in dragging the other closer, pulling the webs around his arms (quite literally with the mark) his legs, heart, throat, mind, anything to tug the boy closer for his possession and inspection.

He'd always kind of thought he still had control over the situation, though Harry got his own jabs in and held his own remarkably and thrillingly well...

First, it had been exhilarating, a new type of danger, having to offer strings of himself in return to keep the other boy, but now…things were complicated, complicated and twisted and he couldn't walk away any more.

He was just as invested as Harry was.

Somehow, Harry always seemed to forget that.  
Harry didn't want him to die or become Voldemort, couldn't he see it was exactly the same as he not wanting Harry to die or be a vegetable?

Why was he even thinking about Harry?

That was the whole point of shoving him back in the first place, right?

He felt Zevi drop quietly into a seat next to him, waiting for acknowledgement.

He flicked his eyes up, noting the other appeared anxious in his composure.

Stressed. Bags under his eyes. Potion stains on his fingers. He looked back down at his spell.

"What is it, Zevi?" he asked, obliging the other with the question. Prince hesitated.

"May I speak…openly, my lord?"

He flicked his eyes up again warily, favouring the other with part of his attention. He paused for a moment, wondering he was going to regret this, before inclining his head, not quite in acceptance, but a signal that he was willing to try listening.

He'd always appreciated the boy's calm logic and perceptiveness, as well as his obvious talent in potions among other things. What he didn't appreciate was Prince overstepping his boundaries.

Zevi swallowed, gathering himself.

He cast an eye over his notes again, making corrections here and there, but listening, shifting his gaze up every now and then.

"You shouldn't push him away," his follower said finally. "Harry, I mean."

"As opposed to some other person you would discuss with me?" he returned, raising his brows mockingly. Prince flushed, swallowing again, fingers pressing into each other until they turn white.

"You'll lose him if you do, especially if you plan to follow through with your plans, and it won't help anything, with all due respect to your reasoning," Zevi added smoothly. "It's just…pushing him away won't protect him from harm, be it from…Voldemort or anyone else, it makes him more of target because they think they'll be able to get away with it. I mean, _we _know what Harry means to you-"

He cast the other a dangerous, warning look.

"What I mean to say," his follower hastily corrected, "is that we know better than to act without your guidance, but…other people…"

"I see," he said. "Is that all?" He turned more fully back to his notes.

"No!"

His hand inched slightly towards his wand.

"No, my lord," Zevi murmured, more softly.

"Then speak, or hold your tongue and leave me in peace."

"You're allowed to be human, Tom - my lord. He…Harry's not going to view you differently if you're…if you admit how much he means to you."

His fingertips spread over his wand, and he heard the other swallow again, no doubt turning a little paler. He kept his eyes firmly on his notes. Zevi continued with an almost brazen determination, voice dropping even quieter.

"He won't judge you for losing control, showing vulnerability, when you lash out at him he-"

"He what, Prince?" he demanded, staring at the other now, viciously. "Careful."

His follower looked almost sick with fear, but pressed on nonetheless.

That was, no doubt, Harry's influence upon them. They were gaining a horrible habit of doing what _they _thought was right in serious situations, and not whatever Tom demanded on them without question or murmur.  
Oh, they would never mutiny against him, but…

"He'd be more confident with himself if you didn't constantly give him mixed signals."

"Are you trying to tell me to play nicely with my toys?" he questioned sweetly.

Zevi met his eyes uncomfortably at that, then looked away, clearly unable to stand the intensity for long, not in its most concentrated form. Most people couldn't bear the brunt of his personality, they needed it diluted or softened in some way.

"If things do go badly, do you really want to end everything on a bad note between you?" Prince replied. "He's willing to sacrifice a hell of a lot for _you, _Tom, _you,_ he's not Lestrange, he won't stay if he believes himself to have become unwanted."

He had half a mind to send the other away instantly, with a sharp curse at that. Instead, he found his gaze slowly rising, to the pleading look on Prince's face.

"I've already made my opinions on the matter clear to him numerous times."

"He's only human too, my lord, and a deeply damaged one. It's not his instinct that anyone will care for him for any extended period of time."

Like him. Always expecting a goodbye, unable to fathom why anyone would want to know him so well, and not flinch from the darkness that they find.

"That's all I wanted to say," Zevi muttered.

The boy left as silently as he came.

Tom itched to torture someone.

What was the point of emotions and relationships again? They were so inconvenient and sticky.

* * *

"You want us to _stun _him? Have you gone nuts?" Ron demanded.

"Keep your voice down," Harry hissed. They both stared at him as if he'd gone completely barmy, or said something ludicrous.

"So, let me get this straight," Hermione began slowly. "You want us to stun _Tom, _tie him up and then guard him so that you go and fight Voldemort,…with the time spell….and create a time loop?"

"Yes," he said simply. He hadn't told them about the adverse effect removing the Horcruxes might have though.

"No way!" Ron deadpanned flatly.

"Why not?"

"Because I agree with him, you can't expect us to let you go and fight Voldemort on your own, you could die! Let us come with you!" Hermione near shrieked.

He stared at her, with a sudden unnerving ice.

"Do as I say, Hermione. This isn't up for argument."

"Oh it's not is it?" she demanded. "Why did you _ask _then?"

"Politeness," he stated. They gaped at him.

"And - and you expect us to just go along with this?" Ron asked lowly. "Never mind that we probably couldn't stun Riddle anyway."

"Will you do it or not?" he returned irritably.

Hermione was staring at him, wide eyed, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

"What's happened to you?" she whispered. Harry cursed.

They couldn't find out like this, it was so…not right.

He forced his expression to soften, pressing a hand to each of their shoulders, forming a circle, summoning a light compulsion to his finger tips. He'd imperio them if this failed, it was too much hassle.

He'd have done that in the first place if he didn't like them so much.

"I know you're just worried about me," he smiled, reassuringly. "I'm sorry for being so snappy…I was just hoping the two of you would trust me on this, you know? You're my best friends, I thought I count on you."

"We are," Ron said fiercely.

"Then will you do it?" he asked.

"I-"

"I'll be fine facing Voldemort, I've got it all sorted out, I promise. I won't die, you can even yell at me after for being a reckless idiot. Come on, Ron, mate? Hermione?"

"I guess, if Riddle doesn't see us coming, we can try," Ron conceded.

Harry flashed him a brilliant grin, receiving an uncertain one in response.

"And you, Hermione? You know we need you, it wouldn't be the same."

"I-alright," her voice sounded very faint. "If you _promise _me you'll be okay!"

"I always am. Thanks guys, I really appreciate it!"

"What are friends for," Ron beamed.

Hermione's eyes rested on him cautiously.

He engulfed them both in a hug. This might be the last time they were ever like would miss them.

He blinked away the tears that threatened to burn in his eyes.

Next; back up plans.

* * *

The next day bloomed early, and he just knew that today was the day. He could feel it in his gut, the anticipation, the weird tension that wasn't his own.

Voldemort had said two days, which, logically, meant that he would attack today, trying to catch them off guard. It was just a matter of when.

"Harry," Tom's voice came quietly behind him. He didn't bother stopping this time. Why should he stay for the other to insult him?

Besides, he wouldn't want to be _boring. _

A hand seized his, pulling him to a halt.

"Not stopping today, I see," the other stated.

"Make up your mind," he snapped. Tom sighed, before shaking his head.

"Do you have a moment?"

"Not particularly, and nor should you, don't you have a spell to finish? Plans to finalise? Lives to ruin?"

"I'm sorry - alright!" Tom growled. Harry blinked, taken aback.

"W-what?"

"I'm sorry, Harry…don't make me say it again."

He stared at the other, who met his gaze unwaveringly. Then, he turned away.

"You're a psychopath, you're never sorry," he replied quietly. "That would require being able to feel guilt or sympathy."

Tom grabbed his jaw, roughly, yanking his head around again.

"I'm sorry," he repeated again, firmly. "As much as I can possibly be, I am sorry. I was…wrong to make you one." A Horcrux. "I should have listened to you."

Harry was silent for a moment.

"You saying goodbye or something? You don't do apologies, you find them pointless."

"Now you're just being difficult."

"It's part of my new inferior personality."

"What, do you want flowers too?" Tom snarled suddenly. "Will you just accept the damned apology I'm trying to give you."

"What…so you can do it again? See how many times you can pull me back to you? See how _dependant _I am?" Harry was nearly screaming at the end, suddenly furious.

Tom reared back.

"_**Welcome to my freaking life, golden boy!"**_

He stopped, frozen, silent. Tom glared at him, furiously.

"Do you really think I would be trying so hard to save you if this wasn't mutual?"

"But-yesterday-"

"I don't like being wrong. I was pissed off. I wasn't in control. I lash out. I've told you before, have I not, that while you tend to withdraw I lash out?"

Harry bit his lip. This was such a strange conversation.

He really didn't want to end things on a bad note between them, and maybe Tom, sensing it, didn't want to either, just in case…

"Comes with the job description of being friends with a psycho I suppose," he shrugged. A small grin tugged at Tom's lips, something undecipherable in his gaze.

The next second, unusually, but not altogether unwelcomingly (and he sounded like a total sap!) arms closed around him, pulling him tightly in, the grip almost painful in its fierceness. Last time.

It would be easier for Tom if they ended badly, he'd decided. Then there would be less to mourn, and maybe he'd be angry enough not to go all out to stop him.

His throat felt thick.

Did Tom somehow know of that plan? Was that why he was being like…this? He didn't know.

He was sorry too. So sorry. Sorry that he was going to have Tom stunned, and sorry for everything he would leave behind.

"You're reputation is going to be in shreds," he muttered instead.

"You're more important than my reputation."

Harry felt wrong footed, incredibly wrong footed, and tried to pull back to see the other's face. Tom wouldn't let him. Tom was never this nice.

He started to get a sense of unnerve, fear. Crap.

"…you have a sedative about to stab me in the back or something, don't you?"

"Sorry, darling…and I really am, but…I can't let you go through with your plan."

Blackness.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy tore into the Great Hall, looking around for either Riddle or Potter. Abraxas noted him, crossing over immediately. Mumblings and explanations broke out, and the teachers rose at the head table.

"Where are they?" he questioned, not needing to clarify who 'they' were to his father. "I need to talk to them, now."

"What's happened?" Abraxas demanded, clasping his arm tightly. "Narcissa, is she-"

"The Dark Lord's ready. He's marching on Hogwarts now."

"…not good."

* * *

A/N: oooh...getting close now, isn't it? :) I've been so looking forward to writing this!

Thanks for the reviews, on the last burst, aren't we? There should be about fiveish chapters left, I think, but don't quote me on that, I don't write in a particularly planned/scheduled manner...


	147. Chapter 146

Chapter 144:

Harry blinked, groggy all over, his limbs feeling heavy.

Abruptly, he summoned his magic to the surface, only to thrash into full alertness as a sharp pain flashed through his whole body.

"Don't struggle," came Tom's familiar voice, from a chair near to him.

Harry blinked again, trying to clear his head. Hands…above his head…handcuffs, suspending him an uncomfortable inch off the ground, enough for his toes to scrape, but not enough to be able to support himself.

"You have got to be bloody kidding me," he growled lowly. "You actually chained me up?"

He looked around himself, angrily. Room of requirement; had to be. He cast his eyes to the Slytherin Heir again, to note the other was concentrating on his notebook…his time spell.

He tried to use a charm to free himself, only for that sudden pain to consume him again., dragging a pained hiss from his clenched teeth

"What the-"

"I told you not to struggle," Tom said quietly, glancing at him. "You'll get a burst of pain from the chains every time you try and use magic."

"You're sick," he spat.

Tom merely raised a brow at that, before frowning lightly at the twice-damned paper, scratching something else, rewriting it. He tried to slip his hands free, but the metal was too tight, almost cutting into his skin.

"Seriously?" he demanded furiously. "You're just going to sit there while-"

"-You don't like hanging out with me?" the other returned lightly .

Hanging. Ha freaking ha. He nearly snarled, struggling to take a calming breath, trying to ignore how not good this situation was, and how very vulnerable he was.

"Let me go." No response. "Tom, let me _down_, this isn't funny!"

"Oh I don't know, golden boy, it's actually quite amusing watching you squirm so helplessly."

"I am not helpless!" he snapped. Right. Not the tangent he wanted to go down. He bit his lip, wishing he could try and rub away his throbbing headache. "Look," he began tightly. "I get that you don't agree with my plan, but this is ridiculous-"

"Indeed," Tom murmured. "I shouldn't have to chain you up, as entertaining as the sight is, to stop you from tearing your mind apart. It is _ridiculous_, most would have more self-preservation. Now, hush, I need to finish this spell."

Harry fumed.

His neck felt empty - Tom had the locket around his own neck, but, thankfully, all the other's but Nagini were in the moleskin upon his person. The young Dark Lord couldn't take those, however much he wanted to. He thought frantically, utterly unwilling to let it end like this.

His letters burned in his inside pocket. He'd had everything planned.

He couldn't fail now, not when he was so close!

"If you keep me here I'm dead," he stated bluntly, before Tom could attempt to silence him.

The other stilled, that dangerous gaze cutting up again. He was in a room that gave him everything he wanted, on demand, he just needed to have time to wish it…

"Bluff."

"I took an death vow, Tom, that deal with Voldemort…did I tell you it was death vow? If I don't go to him to let him kill me, I will drop dead anyway."

More or less, he'd agreed to let Voldemort kill him, which was more passive than actively seeking the Dark Lord out. Tom didn't know that though.

"You're lying."

Harry laughed, wildly.

"You want to wait and find out?" he challenged, not wavering his stare. "Makes this whole thing a bit pointless, but, I suppose the end result is more or less the same, you just still have the problem of an imploding timeline to deal with and increased likelihood of getting obliviated."

Tom set his quill aside, momentarily distracted. Good.

"You're lying," Tom repeated, softer.

But the other had approached him, yew wand pointing in his direction. He was wavering. Tom cared too much to allow him to die, to not be certain. Perfect. He could use this.

"What does having a Horcrux and a death vow simultaneously mean?" he asked in response.

The next second, hands were fisted chokingly on his collar, their faces level without needing for any contortion for once due to the fact he was slightly raised. The wand rested against the side of his face, pressing into his temple.

"_Legilimens."_

He slammed his Occlumency shields up, refusing to buckle. They didn't give. He nearly smiled, victorious.

"You wouldn't need to Occlude if you weren't lying," Tom said finally, a dark, deadly glint in his eyes.

"Not like you to risk it on such matters, but I suppose it's all the same to me. Losing my mind would no doubt be kinder, but…sadistic tendencies, right?"

The Slytherin Heir looked angrier than he'd ever seen him.

"He can't kill you if he never existed in the first place," Tom hissed.

"Do you-" the next second, a cold voice seemed to sink into every corner of the room, in a whispering echo.

"_Time's up, Harry…come and play, or I'll come and find you, and kill anyone who stands in my way."_

Harry swallowed.

He didn't really give a damn about the rest of the school, but his friends would be the one to pay the price of interference. Time to start faking his death.

He let himself slump in the chains, not needing to pretend his nausea because it was there for real. Tom's eyes widened at the sight of him.

"You actually took a death vow. Swear on it, swear you did," the Slytherin Heir shook him harshly, knuckles pressing against his throat. Warm.

"I swear I made a death vow with Lord Voldemort ensuring my death."

He felt a flicker of magic to seal the genuineness of his words, and Tom drew in a sharp breath, looking pained.  
"Damn you," he whispered.

Then Tom was striding towards the door…leaving him tied up.

"What are you doing?" Harry called after the other, infuriated.

"Killing him and thus breaking the vow."

Crap. That scuppered things up.

"Tom-"

The door slammed shut.

He needed to get out. Good thing he had a high pain tolerance.

Keeping his Occlumency carefully in place, he drew his magic and screamed.

* * *

Hermione had never felt so scared, Voldemort's words drummed relentlessly into her head.

The whole school was in panic at the Dark Army assembling outside their wards, the teachers frantically scraping together shields and defences against the massive force upon their doorstep.

She felt almost sick with the knowledge that Harry was nowhere to seen, and probably had full plans to go and meet the Dark Lord. Alone.

Where were they?

She had her answer, partially, a second later, when Riddle appeared striding down into the entrance hall, his wand clasped tightly, a grimly determined expression on his face. She ran over to him, followed by Ron.

"Where's Harry?" she demanded.

"Indisposed," he said curtly. "Get out of my way."

She stepped in his path, not entirely sure why, but knowing she had to stun him, stall him. It was of absolute importance.

He began to move around her, only for Ron to step in the way too, wand pointed at the Slytherin Heir.

"Move!" Riddle ordered, his voice dripping with danger, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She was extremely surprised he hadn't cursed them yet

."Or what?" Ron demanded. "Where's Harry? What have you done to him?"

"I'm trying to save his life," Tom snapped. "_Move."_

"He's not going to die, he told us so," she said confidently.

She felt Harry would be fine with an absolute confidence too, though she wasn't sure of the origins of her conviction either.

"He lies. Frequently. Especially in regards to his own health! His fate stands at something worse than death - for pities sake, Granger, if you don't move-"

"How come you haven't cursed us already then?" Ron challenged, an ugly expression on his face. "Aren't you supposed to be a hotshot with a wand? Where are you rushing too anyway, eager to join the side of your future self?"

Ron never had agreed with her about Tom's indisputable partiality to Harry. He'd always thought he was secretly just infiltrating their side, ready to hand their best friend over to Voldemort when the time was right. At first, she'd agreed, but now…"

I don't have time for this!" Riddle growled, features dark, jaw clenched, white faced. Feral.

"_Stupefy."_

Tom dodged faster than she could imagine, eyes flashing, and yet, he still didn't curse them.

She was starting to wonder about that. Before, he'd been vicious in his insults to them both, and not unlikely to threaten them from what she'd observed.

Yet, since a while back, she'd noted that he'd completely stopped. She wondered if Harry had anything to do with it, like, a deal or something.

They seemed to have a lot of deals, from the very bare bones of information her best friend had shared with her, reluctantly.

"You're supposed to be intelligent-" he began.

The urge to stun him was rising, and she was starting to feel fearful, not sure if she was fully in control of herself.

None of his Slytherin lackeys were in sight, desperately scouring the dungeons and castle for their leader.

A beam of red light shot from her wand, and it was nothing short of impressive that he managed to evade it from such close range, his wand instantly summoning a shield, his form switching to a duelling stance.

The next second, curses were flying at them; but they were neutral, not the dark he favoured. They would incapacitate, but not harm.

She was amazed by the power behind his spells, they were far more than normal, and followed each other in a quick, fluent succession, nothing like most duellers she'd faced. In school, she realised, people tended to take turns casting in a 'battle,' Riddle was following no such obligation.

Where was Harry?

She found her answer a moment later.

* * *

It had been difficult, but with the help of the room of requirement, Harry had managed to free himself. His body still shuddered with the pain, and he was pretty sure he'd pushed the chain to crucio like proportions.

He dropped, crumpling on the floor, nearly moaning in pain. It had been a risk, if he was a true prisoner, that chain most like would have killed him, but he'd suspected Tom had stopped it from being able to go to that extent with him.

It was hard concentrating enough to use magic to free himself, as well as figuring out how, but…he'd been in pain a lot. He'd been in agony the whole time Voldemort had him, pretty much. In comparison, this wasn't so bad.

His muscles ached, his head pounded, and he staggered a few steps, almost falling over. Pins and needles. How inconvenient.

He didn't have time for this, he pushed himself up, despite his buckling knees, only to freeze as something else appeared in the room.

Red.

_The Remembrall! _

He'd almost completely forgotten about it.

He seized it, stuffing it into his moleskin for later perusal. Besides, he needed something to put Voldemort's memories in, and the remembrall he'd ordered hadn't arrived yet.

Now, he needed to get the locket and the ring from Tom.

_Please don't let it be too late!_

He sprinted out the room, down the stairs, almost tripping in his haste, ignoring the yelps and calls of the students he shoved past.

For the first time since the Horcrux, he struggled to compose his shattered mind enough to follow his link to Tom. Entrance hall.

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed in relief. He almost cursed in annoyance, as Tom whipped round, disarming both his friends in their split second of distraction.

Rule 1 of Tom: you can't afford to not focus on him in his vicinity. Ron and Hermione both dropped, stunned, a moment later, and Tom's full attention shifted to him, menacingly.

"You always were slippery, darling," the other murmured, not sounding too surprised, only annoyed.

"I'm good with pain," Harry returned. They circled each other slowly. He memorised the other's features, desperately.

"Time's up, Tom," he continued quietly. "You're not ready, your spell is incomplete."

"It will be ready in half an hour," Tom replied. "If you could just refrain from doing yourself an injury before then."

"I'm sorry," he stated instead.

Violet eyes were piercing, searing through every inch of him. He couldn't help but wonder if this was the last time he'd see them.

He could see Zevi and Abraxas - compelled - coming up behind Tom.

"**Please don't do this."**

It was the please that got stuck on him, because though the other's voice was calm and neutral, that please jarred to drag out true meanings and intentions. Pleading.

Harry swallowed, thickly, wanting to scream and sob. He settled for a sad smile.

"Thank you, for everything."

"Ha-"

_"Stupefy!" _

* * *

Zevi stared at his wand in absolute horror, not sure why he'd just done that.

Oh Salazar, he'd just stunned Tom. _His Lord was going to kill him! _

Harry lunged forwards as the other fell, catching hold of him, taking the weight, wand dropping from his hand with a clatter as he cradled the Slytherin Heir's head, lowering him gently to the floor.

He stayed on his knees next to the young Dark Lord for a moment, staring down, a painful expression upon his face. Zevi felt uncomfortable to look at it, it seemed too vulnerable and open and _grieving _for human eyes.

Harry looked like his world was being ripped apart, heartbroken.

Anguished green eyes closed for a second, and when they opened once more, the expression was gone, replaced by a mask of emotionless nothing.

Hard ice, everything else pushed back. Maybe it hurt too much to feel.

"You compelled me to stun him," he accused quietly.

Harry glanced up at them for the first time.

"I did," the other agreed. "I can't let him stop me, and he'd expect it from me."

"You had no right."

Harry merely made an odd noise at that, something like a smile fleeting across his lips.

Then, he pulled out some letters, tossing him two (one had Alphard's name on) and one to Abraxas. He then twisted, dropping a letter for both his Gryffindors, Granger and Weasley.

After that, he turned again, looking down at the form of the unconscious Dark Lord again, still on his knees beside him.

He pulled the ring off his finger, and the locket from around his neck, carefully lifting the other's head to be able to remove it.

He left the final letter on top, as if in exchange, hissing something in Parseltongue, obviously only for Tom's ears, even if he'd never hear the words in his unconsciousness.

Finally, Harry rose, his expression steeled.

"Stun him if he wakes up, he's dead if he comes after me. I'd read the letters sooner rather than later…goodbye.

"Oh no. Zevi's blood felt curdled, his mouth dry.

"You can't just leave him!" he hissed, pointed furiously at Tom. Harry didn't look back, but his voice was more choked than his unreadable expression.

"I have to...look after him for me, please."

* * *

Harry stared at the swell of the Dark Lord's army, before focussing solely on the man himself. Scarlet eyes bore into his skin, filled with hatred and ice and something else entirely.

"Good boy Harry!" Bellatrix screeched, from behind him. They both ignored her.

"Where's Tom?" Voldemort asked, almost softly, studying him. Harry's stomach clenched at the thought of the other boy. _Sorry Tom, I'm so sorry it has to be this way. _

"Let's just get this over with."

He dropped the Horcruxes on the ground in front of him.

It was time to finish this.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews :) Much, much love.  
Oh, I really hope the ending lives up to your hopes of epicness!


	148. Chapter 147

Chapter 144:

_Zevi, When I first met you, I fully expected you to be like Snape, a bitter and cold bastard with a flair for potions. I now know that only the last is true of you, and would, while I can, like to apologise for the way I treated you when we first met. _

_You have always been on my side when it comes to Tom (more or less, and more than any of the others certainly) and for that I would like to thank you. I couldn't ask for a better friend, and I apologise for having compelled your actions - if Tom tries to harm you due to them, remind him of his oath to me. He'll know what I mean. _

_Anyway, that's not the real reason I'm writing to you now, as much as I mean my words, I dare say you've always been perceptive enough to pick up on what I didn't say without my need to verbalise or express myself like this. _

_I don't know what you know of my plan, but this is what I must have you do…_

* * *

Tom blinked, groaning, before a sensation of extreme alarm tore through his body.

Oh no. What happened. He opened his eyes more firmly, only for black hair to swim into focus in front of him. Harry? Wait, no, unfortunately, not…

"Black-?" he began, frantically trying to pull himself together. Everything flooded back. Salazar - Harry! He started to his feet, only to notice Zevi and Abraxas, and for the matter Granger and Weasley, stunned around him.

Another blonde swum into focus, Lovegood.

Alphard pulled him to his feet, more securely, eyes filled with concern. He couldn't be bothered with that now, and damn this was humiliating.

A letter fell from his clothing, and he abruptly picked up a letter, flipping it to read his name in Harry's handwriting. Harry. He didn't have time for letter reading now! He stuffed the envelope into his pocket, meeting the gazes of Alphard and Lovegood.

He'd been stunned. Numerous times. By _Prince - _he was going to kill the little twit! He presumed these two were the ones to wake him up. He'd make sure to thank them later.

"Harry and Voldemort are that way," Alphard said quickly, pointing out the castle. "Or so goes hearsay."

There was none of the usual levity in the joker's tone this time. He nodded, distractedly, picking up his wand, utterly furious. How could Harry be so stupid!

He started that way, only for Lovegood to catch his arm. He almost snarled at her, determined to kill the next person who came between himself and his friend. She only looked at him with those blue eyes for a moment.

"You'll need to fill in the spaces," she told him seriously, before shoving him away. "Go! Bring him back."

Heart in his mouth; he ran.

* * *

-_I've told this to Zevi and Alphard too, Brax, but if my plan is successful then Voldemort will be going back to 1942 in the place of Tom, to ensure that the timeline doesn't implode. _

_However, in occurrence to the timeline, it has become apparent to me that Abraxas Malfoy and all of you existed in that time period, to give birth to your children - or, in Zev's case, to create the potion allowing acquaintances of ours to give birth (did you know that Leonard Potter is actually infertile?) while his sister Eileen gives birth to the git called Snape, and he gives birth to his squib son Hadrian (!) of whom were both shortly killed - suggesting that you must return. _

_Yet, it seems unfair to me to condemn some of my dearest friends to the fates of which I'll detail you, let alone to force you to keep company with Voldemort, and so I devised a plan. If you should so wish, I will not and cannot force you, I have included a Doppelganger spell at the bottom of this letter. _

_If you should wish to stay in this time with Tom, then you must simply use this spell and send an alternate version of yourself back to keep the timeline running smoothly. Nonetheless, you may also return if you should wish, as I understand you all have families and parents to attend to…_

* * *

Harry stared at Voldemort for a moment, as the other sent every Death Eater in his army to charge upon Hogwarts.

"Just so we're not interrupted," the Dark Lord stated coldly.

Harry narrowed his eyes, but didn't move until the last Death Eater was gone. Voldemort knew he couldn't afford to have them around to aid the Dark Lord either.

It was mutually beneficial that this battle was dealt with privately. He felt nauseas with fear, his hands shaking, his fingers bleached white around his wand. Scarlet eyes noted this with amusement.

"Scared, Harry? You can surrender now, if you wish."

"Never," he spat.

Voldemort shrugged, lazily, and then, without any further ado, killing curses were speeding his way. The objective was more than clear. Voldemort didn't need to toy with or torture him, for the consequences of even one of those spells would prove damning.

He swallowed, rolling out of the way, pointing his wand at the other, summoning every scrap of courage and determination he had, every feeling of remorse he possibly possessed. He was drowning in guilt, tears blurring his eyes with final goodbyes and regrets collected over the years.

"Empathio Reformio!" he slammed the spell out, lashing out simultaneously through the link, as another killing curse narrowly missed his form.

His aim was true, and Voldemort's eyes widened almost comically.

"_**What is this**_?" he spat, "_**what do you think you're doing?"**_

The tears continued to roll down his face, his wand fixed. He prayed this would work. He didn't know what would happen if it didn't.

The ring sprung open, black tearing into Voldemort like shadows absorbed, then the Locket, the cup, the Diadem, the snake…and himself.

He dropped to the floor only a moment after Voldemort did, screaming.

The pain was worse than creating a Horcrux, worse than anything he'd ever felt before.

He was dying, he was sure of it, or hoped for it, he didn't know. The agony ripped from his lungs, from his heart, from his very soul itself. His vision felt hazy, and Voldemort's eyes were frozen on him with absolute hatred as the truth of what was happening made itself clear to him. It seemed to last forever.

They were both on the floor, their torture joint and mutual.

His wand hand was shaking violently now, barely even in his grip, and he put everything he had into holding onto the connection, even though it doubled Voldemort's agony back two fold.

The next second, a force slammed into him.

Tom!

* * *

_- It's your choice, ultimately, Alphard._

_ If you do go back, or if any of you choose to do so instead of sending back a doppelganger, you must make certain that whichever variant of you is with him, that Voldemort never finds out the truth. _

_I will put his memories into a remembrall, you may have seen Tom with it, the memories of this year. He can nev__er know what happens, as far as the world is concerned, Harrison Evans is dead._

_ No time travel, no nothing. _

_It cannot be like that, for Voldemort has to occur for my world to exist, and Tom has assured me that if he does knows me, he can never be Voldemort, and for that reason, he cannot ever know me as he does now. It would ruin everything. _

_I'm sorry. _

_Maybe this is selfish of me, but I know you'd do the same in my place. Just view it as another game, Alphard, and know that it will work out well in the end. _

_Tom will either stay here, or, if he's in a particularly bad mood, kill Voldemort and return home with you all. If that is the case, there is nothing I can do…but, I can ask you, wherever you guys end up, here, or back there…take care of him for me, please. _

_Don't let him become anything less than his greatest potential, he's worth so much more than that. _

_I don't have much time, there's still so much I need to do. _

_Thank you again, I guess. I'm not really any good with these goodbye things, but I suppose that's what this is - goodbye. _

_I sincerely wish you all the best in life, and hope you manage to achieve all the brilliant things you want to do. Don't mourn me, there's no point, and, if you should see me after everything plays out, I only ask that you remember how I used to be and not what I will become. _

_All the best,_

_ fondly and forever, _

_Harry._

_ Good luck!_

* * *

"Well, well, look who it is - looking for your boyfriend, gorgeous?"

Tom ground to a reluctant stop outside the castle and its wards, expressionless in the face of a few Death Eaters, and the bitch Bellatrix at the front of the crowd.

He ignored Lucius; all his orders having already been given and dealt with. A glorious, horrific battle ravaged the area around them, with ministry members and phoenix members coming in from all directions, the students panicked but struggling to keep the oncoming dark tide back from their school.

Their precious Headmaster was nowhere to be seen.

"I am, actually," he replied coldly. "So get out of my way or I'll destroy you."

She cackled.

"Will you now, honey, you and what army?" she leered at him, prowling forwards, her lips painted bloody. She scraped a nail along the side of his face, her breath hot on his face. "I don't know who you think you are," she hissed, suddenly enraged. "Or what your relationship is to our lord, but don't think it stands for anything when he's not here to protect you from us. Who are you, really? Riddle's not a pureblood name."

Lucius' face had turned white.

"Bella-" he began.

Tom smiled back in response, pleasantly.

Then he set the Dark mark burning, striding through them as they dropped to the floor, screaming, clutching their arms, looking as if they wanted to tear the skin off just to escape the sensation.

"Do you know who I am now?" he asked mockingly, disregarding their whimpers. He flicked his wand in the air, tracing letters, feeling them all giving him their utmost attention now.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

I am Lord Voldemort.

They all gasped, shocked, and all together rather more subservient. Fabulous. Secondary. Harry.

"Now," he demanded dangerously. "Where is Harry? And who wants to be my volunteer?"

"He'll already be dead," one of them croaked. Thinking furiously ahead, he shot out a killing curse without a seconds thought, before levitating the body in front of him.

"You can be my volunteer," he told the corpse. "The rest of you, stay put and halt the attack."

"Is Potter really Harrison Evans then?" another Lestrange asked, softly. He didn't bother deigning that with a reply.

Sprinting.

He had an infuriating hero to save.

* * *

_Hermione,_

_I don't think I ever told you how much I appreciated you before, did I?_

_ You are brilliant, the brightest witch of our age and I honestly believe you could give Tom a run for his money, don't ever doubt that__._

_ But, even more importantly, you are one of the best friends I have ever had, and I will always love you for that. You've changed so much from the shy, bossy bookworm with the frizzy hair who fought a troll with me, and saved the stone. I could never have done it without you, and I could never do this without you either. _

_Y__ou're a hero._

_ I can never thank you enough, or tell you how amazing you are._

_ I'm sorry for the times I've lied to you, or even compelled you, and I don't expect you to forgive me because what I did was unforgivable. _

_I don't know if I will be able to complete the spell you gave me, and if Tom refuses to do so, I'm going to need you to cast it. I intend it to send Voldemort back in time to be Tom. _

_Don't worry, I'll have taken care of everything else by then. _

_You're probably wondering why I'm writing you this letter instead of just telling you this in person…right now you're sitting opposite me bickering with Ron about McGonnagal's potions homework. _

_You always did want the best for us, didn't you? Thank you for that, and I'm sorry I never heeded your advice before. _

_I promised I wouldn't die on you, and that's true, but…I'm a Horcrux, Hermione. I've had his soul in me since I was a child, and according to Tom (he knows how these things work) that means my mind and everything has developed around that shard…when I fix Voldemort, and make him Tom again to be sent back, that shard of soul is going to come tearing out._

_ I don't think having the mind of a one year old would be too bad for me, it would probably be easier even, I'm just sorry that I never told you about it. _

_The point is, this is my goodbye. _

_My mind might be fixed one day, you never know with all the magical healing developments people are trying, but I cannot be certain, and will not leave without saying goodbye to you. _

_So, goodbye, Hermione. Thank you again for everything. I wish you everything good in life, and hope you are happy and successful, like I know you will be. _

_Don't ever let anyone tell you that you can't do something, because you can. I hope one day you can come to accept that I have to do this, but if you can't, I understand._

_Don't let me go to the Dursley's this time round…I think I'd like growing up with Sirius and Remus, if they'd have me. Anyway. Enough of that. _

_Thank you once last time,_

_All my love, _

_Harry, your best friend. _

_PS: If Tom stays here, help him out, will you? He's alright once you get to know him. I think you'd even be good for each other. _

* * *

Harry's eyes widened, as another green light cracked the ground he'd just been standing on.

His gaze flicked to Voldemort, who was desperately throwing the killing curses in his direction now, face waxy and blurred, teeth gritted, screaming, almost blind with the pain and just shooting the curses wildly in his direction now. Anything to cut the connection, make it stop.

His vision felt hazy, black spots beginning to appear.

Voldemort was slumping too, energy all but spent, nearly sobbing and Harry didn't know how he felt about that.

The snake face was turning into something far more human, a nose growing, eyes looking like the crimson was bleeding out.

Pale fists were clenched, and then the other was thrown up into the air, as if by magic, arms spread, screaming.

Harry screamed too, wishing it would stop. Anything to make it stop.

He wondered if he'd hallucinated Tom too, just because he - bizarrely, as he couldn't stand the thought of Tom seeing him vulnerable - wished the other was there. It would be…comforting. Harry wished anyone would be here, just to remind him of who he was.

He could feel his eyes dropping, his breath harsh with torment. He kept up the spell, wand almost slack in his hand, putting everything he had into it.

After he was done, then he could rest. Not yet, not yet.

He almost yelped when he felt himself be dragged forcibly across the grass, the grip barely leashing violence, and darted his eyes up, thrashing to think some death eater might be trying to stop him.

Tom.

Oh. It seemed the other was here after all. How funny.

Guess Zevi unstunned him after all…was unstunned a word? Ennergated? Ennervated?

"Tom…" he murmured. "Fancy seeing you 'ere."

"Shut up golden boy, and stay in the bloody circle. I'd take your wand away, but it makes no difference anymore, so don't you _dare _collapse on me."

Circle…? He looked around him.

Rings of blood around him, great swooping designs and pentacles that Tom was carving at warp speed. He recognised them from somewhere.

Wait.

"You're making a Horcrux? Now!" he demanded, faintly, keeping his eyes on the other boy's form, though not quite up to moving.

Pain thrummed through his body, he could do nothing but lie there, lie and focus on keeping the remorse pouring into Voldemort. "I'm sorry for stunning you," he added quickly.

"I said shut up," Tom hissed, before his tone softened. "Preserve your strength."

"Why are you making a Horcrux-?"

"Stubborn," Tom muttered, but then, the next second, he was chanting.

* * *

_Ron, _

_I know you're probably pissed off with me now, and I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do to take back everything I've done, but I'm sorry nonetheless. _

_You're my best mate, and, honestly, you were my first friend ever. Lame, huh? I know you're not really much of a letter person, so I'll keep it short. _

_Thanks. Thank you times a million, for being my friend, for always being there for me, and for not turning your back on me when I went with the Slytherins._

_ I know you don't like them, and I know you don't like Tom, but give him a chance. I really think he can change things. But this letter isn't for me to talk about Tom with you._

_ I just wanted to say goodbye, and thank you, thank you, thank you, all over again. I doubt I can say it enough. _

_I wish I could be there to see you take the Chudley Cannons to success as their kick ass awesome, bad ass keeper (my firebolt is now yours, by the way), or to be the best Auror that this world has ever seen, but I can't. I don't need to see to know that you'll be bloody brilliant though, cause that's what you always are. _

_I could never have done anything or been anything without you, hell, if it wasn't for you and your crazy chess skills (and I never did beat you, did I?) then we would all have died and Voldemort would have risen in first years. That was when you were eleven, think how incredible you are now? Sorry to sound corny, but it has to be said. _

_Whether you forgive me for my numerous wrong doings or not, I wanted to tell you not to feel like you are nothing, cause you're not. _

_On the first day I met you, you talked about how whatever you did would be nothing special, cause your brother have done it already, but they haven't. Y_

_ou were the one who beat McGonagall's chess set, who faced your fear of spider's in the forest with me like a true Gryffindor, and followed me to the Chamber and so many other stupid things. You, not your brothers, you. Just saying. _

_Anyway, I said I'd keep this short, so I'll wind this down._

_Hope you have an amazing life - treat Hermione well or I'll find a way to make you suffer! :P - and I wish you everything you ever wanted. _

_Harry.  
Weasley is my King...! _

* * *

Pain. Blistering pain.

Tom could feel his soul shredding (and didn't that prove all the bitches at the Orphanage wrong? He had one after all!) Lovegood had told him to fill in the spaces, and at first he wasn't entirely sure what she meant.

Then he realised.

The spaces in Harry's soul…Harry's mind was unravelling with nothing in the middle, so he would replace that. He knew the boy had been holding on for the sake of his sanity and his spell, so the soul was still in place, now he needed to guide it out so to speak, and put his own Horcrux in its place.

It was excruciating.

He could very vividly understand now why most wizards forwent this route.

His teeth gritted, the world spinning and slipping around him. Finally, it was done; a piece of soul to replace Voldemort's Horcrux, and another piece to patch the hole he'd made in Harry's soul.

Could someone be a double Horcrux? Because it seemed Harry was, and so didn't break the rules of their deal, as it was still technically one Horcrux as the vessel was the same.

Unable to stop a moan from falling from his lips, he dropped to his knees, exhausted, shuddering, not having enough energy to walk to where Harry was lying, almost passed out, but not quite.

He crawled over instead, for the second time in his life in such a situation, fingers searching for a pulse, almost collapsing on top of the other with the effort it took to support his own weight.

"Harry?" he whispered.

"Tom…whad'ya do?"

"Saved your pathetic life and mind, as always…alright?"

"Think so…you?" slurred voice. Harry was as tired as he was…but it was Harry.

He could have laughed in delight. It was Harry! His Harry!

"Peachy."

"Really, because the two of you look rather worse off for wear?" came an icy voice.

He turned his head, sluggishly, nearly overbalancing, as Harry too struggled to sit up, trembling with the exertion it took, his friend's other hand gripping his arm tightly, his body angling defensively in front of him.

Tom decided then that it was extremely bizarre looking at himself.

He glanced at Harry, to find emerald eyes already on him.

Voldemort smiled.

They raised their wands as one.

* * *

_Tom,_

_I honestly don't know what to write here, which is funny, because there are so many things I could say and so many things I never told you. _

_I could tell you to stop frowning like a sore loser because my plan beat yours, but I don't want to get into that 'victory' now. _

_I could tell you not to be a bastard, and then forestall your never ending array of comebacks regarding the marital state of your parents. _

_I could even tell you that I'm sorry, so sorry, that it had to end this way. I guess we're just not meant for a fairytale, right? I am sorry, though, Tom, as much as you hate apologies and scorn them as meaningless. _

_Who knows, maybe you've already put down the paper in disgust as you've essentially labelled it as my 'suicide note.' _

_It's odd, when I first met you I never imagined that all this would come out of it, in fact, I thought you were a total arrogant, evil git in all honesty. _

_Well, I still think you're an arrogant git, but you're not evil. _

_You're actually the most brilliant, amazing, greatest men I've ever met - and I'm allowed to say that now with the full knowledge that the implication of my words will never get back to my coherent mind. _

_I also know that you're going to do great things, so much greater than Voldemort. Hell, if anyone was going to successfully rule the world, I'd bet my entire Gringotts back on it being you. Just don't be a twit about it, alright?_

_ Let people help you, everyone needs help sometime, and it doesn't reflect badly on you to accept it. Most people would call it delegation. _

_We never did finish that manifesto, and you know, I doubt you want the thoughts of a one year old for your new constitution, but then, I don't suppose it matters because you've always known me better than anyone else…and don't tell Ron or Hermione I said that! _

_Speaking of plans for world domination, consider this my parting shot - equal opportunities. _

_We both know that equality would never work, as society would stagnant if everyone was automatically the same without reward for work or whatnot. _

_But anyway - go for equal opportunities, for me. Put everyone on the same starting point regardless of their blood or family or species, then judge by talent alone. None of that other crap. Okay? _

_Good luck. _

_Look after our world for me, and, more importantly, look after yourself._

_ Try not to work yourself to exhaustion, and for crying out loud don't suddenly start mourning me or whatever. _

_You'll forget me one day, I'll just be the memory of a boy you used to know, and that's okay. That's fine. I want you to find someone else, or whatever your preference is, nobody deserves to be alone, least of all you. _

_You deserve everything, Tom. _

_I should be wrapping this up, you're probably bored out your mind by now, if you're still reading…all the bleeding sentiment. Haha. _

_Makes good firewood though? _

_But no, seriously, thank you, Tom, for everything. _

_Be happy,_

'_Love' or whatever we're supposed to put here,_

_Harry._

* * *

A/N: The italics are the letters, if you hadn't guessed. And regarding the first three, Zevi's, Alphard's and Abraxas' are pretty similar, so it's just going through the different parts kind of like I did with the prophecy. I hope it worked out.

This chapter was so hard to write, it's ridiculous! I hope it turns out alright. And no, it's not the end quite yet ;)

Thank you for all the reviews :)


	149. Chapter 148

Chapter 145:

For a moment, they balanced on the knife edge of confrontation, frozen, none of them saying or doing anything. Harry felt himself be tugged back from where he'd edged in front of Tom. Voldemort's head tilted back, as he surveyed them both.

"Now, now, there's no need to be so hostile," he murmured. "I wish neither of you harm currently."  
Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. What?

"Why should we believe you?" Tom hissed, his voice equally cold. Their voices sounded the same, everything about them seemed the same…except for their attire.

"Well, you have no particular reason to believe me I suppose, so you can keep pointing your wands at me if it pleases you so…" Voldemort sneered. "Not that it's very threatening considering you both seem about to collapse from magic exhaustion." The Dark Lord prowled around them, robes dragging softly on the ground. Harry twisted to keep him in view, pride be damned. "Look at you, bless, you didn't actually think that you could beat me? Oh you _did_, that's adorable."

"What do you want?" Harry demanded, unnerved. Tom's eyes were sharp upon the other, though glazed slightly from sheer tiredness.

"Right now? I want Tom here to give me the time spell he's no doubt worked on…that was your plan, wasn't it? Go back in time and destroy me." Voldemort's tone darkened, vicious, hating. "Almost bad as Potter's with his infernal time loop."

Tom stiffened. Harry felt idiotic, not getting the ulterior plan yet, and narrowed his eyes.

"You want to go back in time?" he verified, frowning. But that worked, that….oh. Crap. "And change history. You'll just start over with all your future knowledge."  
Voldemort's eyes glittered.

"I always said you weren't stupid, _darling."_

"Don't call me that!" he snarled.

If Voldemort went back like this, with his memories, the future would be obliterated for a new reality, and the two of them along with it. Voldemort would just pick up Tom's life and go from there and Tom…would cease to exist as the timeline wasn't kept the same like in his plan. "Over my dead body are you doing this."

"That could be arranged," Voldemort said lazily. "But…I think not."  
Tom hissed next to him, savagely.

"**_You don't get to keep him!"_**

Voldemort smirked.

"And how are you going to stop me, child? You can barely keep your eyes open, what are you going to do, faint on me?"

Keep him…?

"Why do you want me to come?" Harry demanded, bewildered. Voldemort's expression turned ugly.

"Just because I'd grant Tom the non suffering way out, doesn't mean I'd offer _you_ the same, Potter."

"You said you didn't mean us harm," Tom stated flatly.

"Well, you won't be harmed, you just won't exist. And I don't mean him harm _currently_, indeed, I dare say I'll save his life first so I can actually have the pleasure of taking it at a later date."

Harry could feel nausea rising in his gut.

"I'd rather die with Tom than live one second with you!" he spat. Voldemort looked at him, expressionless.

"I'm counting on it."

Tom's grip tightened on his arm, a burning, crushing point of feeling and pain, pulling him back further, away from Voldemort. Harry looked to the side, almost startling when one those hands closed around his throat, a finger brushing against his pulse almost gently.  
Harry's stomach lurched.

"I'll kill him before letting you have him," Tom stated, very calmly, deadly.

"T-" he began. Voldemort laughed, wildly.

"Snap his neck then, if you have the strength left to do it."

Tom's gaze flicked to him, seeming absolutely torn. He inclined his head slightly. He'd meant what he said. He'd rather die than go with Voldemort, for an eternity of torture, that had been his object to torture.  
Those few seconds seemed to last forever.

Then a wand was pressing into his temple, the hand keeping him from jerking his head away, not that he was planning on. His mouth felt dry. There was something in Tom's eyes…

"_Avada Kedavra."_

* * *

For a moment, he stared at Potter and his younger self.

He hadn't expected Tom to actually do it, perhaps ridiculously. He'd been sure he wouldn't. They may have both been incredibly petty and possessive, but he hadn't…  
There was an odd feeling in his stomach. He didn't understand it. Tom didn't look at him, gently lowering the slack body to the floor, fingers carding through the boy's hair, head bowed over the corpse. He couldn't believe it. Had…no…he…

"You killed him," he stated, numb.  
The Boy Who Lived….dead. He couldn't believe it. He sought out their connection, but it was completely black, gone. Dead.

"I told you I would," Tom replied.

His brow furrowed. He started forwards, only for his younger self to nearly fly at him, despite his weak state, the unforgivable seeming to sap him off his last remaining strength. If he cast even a 'wingardium leviosa' now, he was sure Tom would die from the depletion of his core. Easy pickings.

He raised his wand again instead.

He just wanted to get this over now, enough of Harry Potter Evans, and of this Tom Riddle who had goaded and taunted him at every turn. He hated the child. He was pathetic, the epitome of everything he'd sought to avoid when he first decided to make Horcruxes.

Tom's eyes were still fixed on the dead hero, before he rose to his feet, staggering with exhaustion, falling again the first time.

They finally stood facing each other.

Alone. So alone.

His enemy was slain at last. A smile began to pull at his lips, a laugh bubbling in his chest. The chosen one was gone.

"Congratulations," he said softly. "You just won the war for me."

"You've won nothing without him."  
He laughed at that. What a pathetic a thing to say! How absurd!

"I always knew you'd break him in the end."

Tom's jaw tightened, rigid, his eyes flashing. He laughed again, before halting his amusement. He felt very strange, it was odd having his full soul again.

There were so many emotions he was no longer used to, and his mistakes seemed so much clearer. Maybe he'd only make one this time round, while searching for a new way of upholding his immortality. He raised his wand, pointing it at the other's chest, summoning the time spell from Potter's pockets.

Tom's eyes widened.

"What are you doing?" he took a stumbling step back.

"Why would I want to ever be you again?" he sneered. "Enjoy 1942."

"-You'll be destroyed, I'd never become you-"

"-You'd never become me with Harry there," he cut over his counterpart, watching Tom's features froze. "But you've got rid of the only thing keeping Tom Riddle from being Voldemort…and you may say now that you'll avoid becoming me, but you won't. You'll split your soul and destroy your humanity, spiralling until you wake up with red eyes in the mirror."

Tom would become him, and he, alone, would be left standing here. A loop-de-loop of time completed, to which he would now continue.

"I don't even need to make you forget, you'll do it yourself, and become me willingly, because you know that's the only way you'll ever escape the memories of this year and everything that would make you want him alive-"

"-Because you don't remember them, you don't remember this year and everything that happens between us."

"Exactly," he pronounced with satisfaction.

To his shock, Tom suddenly smiled, mockingly, sadly, viciously, his whole posture changing.

"The fascinating thing about the killing curse is that, like with all the unforgivables, you have to mean them for them to work."

He paused, staring at the other, with a horrible sense of dread, realisation. No…NO!

"I promised I would never let him go…right Harry?"

He spun round, wand in hand, only to fall into blackness with the whispered words.

"_Obliviate."_

* * *

Harry lay on the floor, utterly shocked, eyes shut. He wasn't dead. He'd felt the spell hit, but he wasn't dead. He felt Tom lower him to the floor, fingers threading through his hair, an impression of a voice against his ear.

"**_Play along…"_**

Then Tom had leaned away from him again.

He kept his features utterly smooth, slack, noting Tom hadn't manoeuvred him such a manner that his face wasn't immediately visible.

He listened to them talking, his fury rising as Voldemort revealed his game plan.

Bad move to say his Tom would ever become Voldemort.

He cast the barest notice-me-not charm on himself, almost passing out as his head spun from magical exhaustion, and rose, watching Voldemort as he was absorbed in his victory, laughing.

He angled his wand, very carefully, knowing he only had one shot and couldn't afford to miss.

Tom's eyes slid to his finally, so very, very alive, dazzling.

He should have known the Slytherin Heir would never kill him like that. It was far too much like surrender, and the young Dark lord had gone to such lengths to keep him alive. It was just so easy to doubt that anyone would care enough and so intensely as Tom did, even if he felt the same.

"I promised I would never let him go…right Harry?"

"Obliviate."

Voldemort fell to the floor between them. He felt the last of his energy sap out of him, and nearly landed on top of said, fallen Dark Lord.

In the distance, he could feel his friends starting to sprint towards them, with a group of Death Eaters oddly enough…too little, too late.

Typical. He had Tom though. All he needed.

The other sunk into the grass next to him, eyes almost completely shut now, exhaustion prevalent now all immediate threats and adrenaline was depleted.

"We make a pretty amazing team," Harry murmured, with a small smile. Tom smirked in response.

"I've been telling you that all along, darling."

Blackness descended.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore paused above the sight before him, taking it all in.

Tom…or rather, Voldemort Tom going by the robes was lying across the floor, wand a short distance from his hand.

Riddle and Harry were about a metre away, unconscious too with the clear signs of magical exhaustion, curled towards each other, close enough to each other that he knew full well that they hadn't fallen like that.

They both looked battered, and his heart swelled with horror at the pentacles and remnants of Dark Magic that ravaged the grounds around them.

He decided quickly, ignoring as Miss Granger and Mr Weasley, as well as the original Death Eaters and then some current, crowded around the duo - the latter hovering more, frightened to get too near, eyeing him warily.

It was too perfect to miss up.

He'd play Tom up as Voldemort and send him back to the past where he belonged (memories wiped so he didn't come back) and kill Voldemort. They were too dangerous to be allowed to live.

But Harry…did Harry have to die? The boy probably had the mind of a one year old round about now, to dispose of him would be unnecessary.

He'd de-age the boy and give him to Sirius and Remus so he could have the good, happy, light childhood deserved. He was only a pawn in the machinations of Mr Riddle after all, and could have no blame placed upon him.

The Horcrux was gone after all, and he could always deal with the child later if he seemed about to succumb to such shadowy temptations again without the influence of the young Dark Lord.

Yes, it was settled.

He raised his wand, only for it go spinning out of his hand. He turned, about to reprimand and get it back, before he stilled.

Wands.  
Wands, dark and light, young and old, pointing at him from all directions. The Gryffindors looked uncertain, but, to his horror, took their leads from the Slytherins, and remained resolute. House unity couldn't come at a more inopportune moment. The Death Eaters and order members stood together.

The world had gone crazy!

"Get away from my Godson!" Sirius snarled, Remus looking every inch the wolf next to him - the mild mannered man, gone!

"You've interfered with them enough!" Alphard Black said firmly.

"-If you were going to attack that poor child!-" Minerva. The accusations grew louder, more frenzied, furious, _dangerous. _

"You know," Abraxas Malfoy said coldly. "I once knew a boy called Cygnus Lestrange. He tried to interfere with Tom and Harry too."

Prince smiled, almost manically.

"Did you ever hear about what happened to him?"

Some discoveries came too late.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, and for sticking with me through this story - this has been an amazing experience for me, and I hope you guys have enjoyed it too. :)

Next chapter, if there's no epilogue, should be the last...  
Wow.


	150. Chapter 149

Harry blinked, groggily, the world seeming white around him.

"Harry!" fingers closed around his hands, squeezing. "Healer, he's waking up - someone get me a healer!"

Everything slowly fuzzed and spun into focus, Sirius' face swimming into view.

"Siri.." he began, before coughing, his throat dry. He struggled to sit up, and his Godfather's arm immediately wrapped around him in support, a glass of water pressed into his hands.

"Drink slowly," Sirius advised. He took a sip, carefully, before pushing it away.

"What happened? Is Tom okay?"

"Easy, kiddo-"

"-Just tell me." Panicking, he began to swing his legs out of bed, only for Sirius to quickly acquiesce.

"-He's fine, really! Tom's fine," his godfather said, holding up his hands. "Everyone's…fine."

"Voldemort?"

"Back in time with no memories, Hermione really is brilliant."

"She is," Harry smiled fondly. "And Dumbledore? What's his view on this?"

"Ah…Dumbledore," Sirius rubbed his head somewhat sheepishly, eyes turning cold. "Dumbledore's a bit preoccupied at the moment to interfere with anything to do with you."

Harry's head tilted with curiosity, a silent gesture for more information.

"Ron and Hermione are okay too, they'd be here, but I sent them home. They've been here all week, they were exhausted."

Harry nodded in acknowledgement.

"Good," he said. "Sirius…what happened to Dumbledore?" he persisted.

"He's in the middle of getting sued, with a full investigation into his affairs during the wars and interwar years and has been stripped of all his positions."

Harry's mouth opened, then shut. A smug sense of satisfaction filled him, along with a sense of sorrow. Dumbledore wasn't bad, he was just…misguided in what he thought was best. Tom was equally manipulative and cared even less about the welfare of his followers, he was just more…charismatic and open about it, in a way. He didn't know. His stomach churned.

He couldn't believe he was alive.

He'd…wow. He'd expected everything to go so differently, he'd planned so extensively on how everything would go, he hadn't expected to live…wow. He was alive.

A breathless laugh escaped past his lips. After everything, he was still alive!

Sirius was watching him, but now there was a dark tint in his eyes. Harry frowned, deflating slightly.

"What is it?" he asked softly. Sirius shot him a smile.

"You need to rest-"

"_Sirius." _He pressed his hand on the other's wrist, insistently. Sirius' jaw tightened.

"Tom talked to me about your plan."

Oh.

"Siri-"

"-You don't have to sacrifice yourself all the time, Harry! You could have come to me, I would have helped you find another way."

"There was no other way," Harry said, brow furrowed. "Besides, I didn't want to worry you-"

"-It's my job to worry about you," Sirius said, gripping his harm tightly. "I'm supposed to look after you, not the other way round, you're the kid-"

"-I'm not though," Harry whispered, suddenly uncomfortable. Was that what Sirius wanted him to be, a child? The baby he'd left at Godric's Hollow? "I've not been a kid for a long time, not really. I-I've never had parents, I've always looked out for myself, I'm sorry, but I can't do the whole parent thing like you want me to do."

His Godfather looked incredibly hurt. Harry felt awful. Then, Sirius' expression smoothed slightly, still sad, and the other squeezed his hands.

"I understand…you're not a child, and you're…" Sirius swallowed. "You don't need someone telling you what to do all of a sudden, but….just let me be there for you. Help if you need it, a place to stay if you have nowhere else to go…family. Would you be okay with that? Just…"

"Yes," Harry said immediately, smiling weakly with relief. "Yes."

Sirius grinned, then pulled him into a hug.

"I was so scared, I thought I'd lost you…"

* * *

They'd been at St Mungoes for about a week, and Tom had only just found and remembered the letter in his pocket. He stared at it for a moment, before slitting the envelope and reading impassively, not noticing how the envelope was slowly getting crushed in his hand. His jaw clenched, his posture growing rigid.

"Tom," Harry sauntered into his ward (they healers had initially tried to stop them from visiting each other, but they'd ended up sneaking out their individual rooms in the middle of the night and running into each other anyway, so now the nurses had just given up, and tried to make sure they were at least authorised and checked in their excursions) only to freeze.  
He didn't look up.

"Tom…what's that?" the other's voice sounded oddly faint.

"Your little suicide note," he replied.

Harry approached him, carefully, eyes upon his face as if to gauge how far he'd got.

"Err…did you, erm, read it?"

"That's the point of a letter, I believe," he replied, his voice sounding strangely detached.

"Right. Yeah. Um. About what I said-" Harry began.

"Which part specifically?" he looked up. His friend's cheeks were burning red. "The bit about how I'm the most brilliant, greatest man you've ever met, or-"

"-Hey, at the time I thought I'd end up with the mind of a one year old!" Harry snapped, flushed. "Give me a break on how…er…"

"Sentimental and mushy it was?" he smirked. Harry groaned, burying his head in his hands.

"Can you just pretend it never happened and forget what I said?"

"You didn't mean it?" he queried innocently, knowing full well the other had. "Normally people are more truthful when they think the ramifications of their honesty won't get back to them."  
_  
Come on, admit it aloud.  
_  
"…Shut up, Tom."

"I'm touched you think so highly of me, darling."

"You're not shutting up…"

"No, but it's sweet, really."

"I hate you."

"Not according to this, don't let our fans get hold of it, they'll take it as proof of our romantic attachments."

"If you're just going to mock me for it-" Harry bit out, starting to look more defensive and angry than embarrassed now. He shook his head, seizing hold of Harry's arm before he could storm out back to his own room.

"Sit. Hold it. One moment."

Not really sure why he was doing this, but knowing it was bizarrely easier than trying to have a conversation because Harry would just interrupt him all the way through, he flipped the paper over and grabbing a pen from the many assortment of gifts (he was so ridiculously bored here!) off the table.

Harry watched him curiously, the flush beginning to fade from his skin.

He started to write.

* * *

Harry looked down at his hands, the room silent but for the scratching of the pen.

The remembrall burned in his pocket, it was what he'd come to see Tom about. He'd opened it and…it had been this year.  
It had been the last fifty years or so of Voldemort's life, like the obliviate charm had intended…but Hermione had told him that a remembrall would just hold all the memories placed into it. There was no other memory.  
Had the remembrall been empty or something? He was puzzling over this more when Tom handed him the piece of paper, an unreadable expression on his face.  
Slightly nervous, Harry took it, and read.

* * *

_Harry,_

_You are amazing._

_One of the most amazing things about you is how you have survived so long being such a colossal idiot!_  
_I quote: "You'll forget me one day, I'll just be the memory of a boy you used to know, and that's okay." How on earth is that ridiculous idea still in your head, hero? No one could ever replace you in my perception as that is kind of the point on why I followed you through time._

_Moreover, your claims that I'll forget you? Logically flawed._  
_I have a Munin band so I won't get obliviated and I can see no other reason I could possibly forget about you in anyway or form or matter considering you're the only person I've ever got close to and the only person I have any interest in being close to...not to even go into the fact that you're generally unforgettable anyway._

_I've just gone to a serious amount of effort - rewriting history itself - to not forget you, so such a claim is absurd and you should put it out your head and point me in the direction of the Dursley's so I can mutilate them for making them think you're not worth it._

_If you weren't, I'd have left by now. I have high standards and have commonly been called a perfectionist. Read what you like into my opinions on you from that statement._

_Secondly; "that's fine. I want you to find someone else, or whatever your preference is, nobody deserves to be alone, least of all you. You deserve everything, Tom."_

_Going on from the previous point…if I deserve everything, then what makes you think you have the right to remove yourself from my life until I want you to? (which, just in case you're still somehow in doubt, is never.)_

_If I deserve everything, I deserve to get to keep you._

_My preference? That would be you again. No one else could compare, and no, that does not mean I fancy you. Preference - a person, object, or course of action that is more desirable than another, or the state of being that desirable choice. Something desirable is something worth having, and not necessarily something you want sexually. That makes you my preference, so stop trying to add emotional sentiment, teenage hormones and societal expectations and interpretations on everything._

_You should know by now that society doesn't really work for us, and the dictionary hardly has the lexis to describe us._

_"Be happy" - in what universe are you thinking that I would be happy if you had the mind of a toddler? I'm certain I made my dislike for the idea perfectly evident, and while you may have had some notion of me 'getting over it' in combination to your rather pointed comments about preference and not being alone, I can assure you that I wouldn't._

_I'd spend the next however-long finding a cure because ruling the world without you would hardly be very fun. Who would suffer through playing nice to the politicians with me?_

_The only agreeable aspect of your letter is your suggestion of "equal opportunities," so I'll talk about it more to you later.  
_  
_I think that covers the most important errors you have made, and, in all honesty, I'm running out of space…_  
_  
Love, obsessively yours, I don't really care what we're supposed to put here, _  
_  
Tom._

_PS: "so many things I never told you" ? Consider me intrigued._

* * *

Harry swallowed, emotions bubbling his chest, feeling Tom's eyes on his face as he read. Finally, he looked up, once he was sure his features were composed.

Tom raised a brow.  
"Did I miss anything?"

"No…no I don't think so." He glanced down at the paper again, the lines of Tom's neat calligraphy, and his own messy scrawl on the other side. His mouth felt dry. Tom had never been that open with emotions, not like that, and the fact that he'd mimicked his letter, essentially in a gesture to put him at ease over his writings (and he was sure Tom would have scorned it!) was...touching.

"You know, most people would class that response as sentimental or whatever," he murmured.

"We've already covered that most people are normally wrong," Tom replied, meeting his eyes. "All I gave you were facts."

Harry hid a smile. That was just so…Tomish a response.

"I presume you wanted to talk to me about something?" Tom prompted after a moment, and it took Harry a moment to catch up.

Right. The remembrall.  
He pulled it out of his pocket, and Tom's eyes immediately zoned on it, before back at him.

"You opened it."  
It wasn't a statement.

"It has Voldemort's last fifty years in…and not just because of the obliviate, there's no other memory, I don't understand, was it empty?"

Tom's expression had frozen.

"Tom?"

"Bloody hell."

"What?" Harry demanded, worried now. Had something gone wrong?

"A remembrall doesn't take duplicate memories."

Harry frowned. Duplicate…?

"You mean it won't take the same memory twice?"

"Exactly," Tom said quietly, studying him, waiting for him to catch up.

Harry's eyes widened after a moment.

Bloody hell.

"The time loop always happened. This was always supposed to happen like this?" he yelped.

They hadn't…beaten Fate. This had always been fate, or so it seemed. Voldemort's memories were already in the remembrall, because Voldemort had already been obliviated by him on a previous time loop.

Once upon a time, Tom Riddle had become Voldemort for real, and then Voldemort was sent back to be Tom and so that part of history kept repeating itself in a circle, whereas Tom, the spare strand, was left to continue as he wanted while Voldemort was stuck in a perpetual loop, a broken record, repeating the same fifty years or so over and over again, forgetting each time that he'd done it before.

He swallowed.

"How long have you had that figured out?"

"Since Voldemort told me his plan. But no, this is still the same time loop, it's just that everything coalesces onto this point, so all the time loops come together while we remain linear as were not stuck in it. This is still the first time it's happened to us, but not to Voldemort if that makes sense?"

"Not really," Harry said honestly. Tom rolled his eyes.

Peace stretched.

* * *

Zevi didn't know when it was decided, maybe they knew all along.

They were staying. They were leaving their families and lives behind for the sake of Tom Riddle and Harry Potter Evans. How sickeningly Hufflepuff of them, almost.

Yet, Harry had told them all the deadly fates that awaited them back home…he was a Slytherin, self preservation.

He didn't presume to know how easy or had it was for the others, or what their motivations were, he only knew his own. He studied stories, people, and this was where the greatest story ever was.

Those two were the centre of everything.

He couldn't…leave just as everything he'd dreamed of and envisioned was about to come true. He swallowed. He'd miss his family so much, up until the end, he'd always kind of assumed that this trip was temporary.

He'd, despite his reservations on its beneficial effects upon Harry, always thought Tom would win outright. He should have known they would wear each other down to another compromise.

Of course, he didn't completely remove the thought of going back to his own time - Tom still had the time spell, if he was so inclined, Zevi was sure he'd drag Harry back at whichever point the wanted and simply murder an unsuspecting Voldemort in his sleep and replace him.

It wasn't inconceivable. He didn't know.

Before, he suspected they'd never stay with Tom like this, loyalty and fascination regardless…but he'd seen this story play out, and, somehow, found himself changed by it.

Harry and Tom had that effect on people; everyone they came into contact with were somehow changed from the experience.

He'd send a Doppleganger back, and live to watch his own children grow up.  
It would be…good. Different, but good.

It would take some time to get used to, but…

Well, they had all the time of their lives now…

He looked as Harry and Tom endured the fussing of the healers (it was their release day) and regarded the clamour of the press crowded the outside of the magical entrance of St Mungoes hospital.

The newspapers had been filled with sensational stories about the two of them, regarding the defeat of the Dark Army and Dark Lord.

He knew the real story was so much more greater and more complex than anything the papers, or even he in his marginal insight, could imagine.

And this was only just the beginning...this was two years.  
He could only guess at what they'd do in a lifetime.

He'd look forward to this.

One chapter closed; another begun.

He couldn't wait.

* * *

Harry felt nervous.

He'd argued that they could just use the muggle entrance to leave St Mungoes, but Tom had reminded with some amusement that, unless they were taking the Dark Lord route as opposed to that of a political campaign primarily, he was going to have to get used to the press.

It didn't make it any better. He felt nauseas.

Tom eyed him for a moment, before clapping him on the shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

"**Ready?"**

"**Bring on the world domination,"**he returned dryly.

Tom grinned.

They paused for one more minute, just lingering on the moment, the edge of everything.

Their eyes met. He nodded.

And, together, they strode out into the blinding flash of the cameras.

* * *

A/N: I really hope that was a good ending. Writing it, I realised just how phenomenally difficult ending was. Hope it's okay.

Thank you so, so much for all the reviews and the support through this! Words can't describe...I sincerely hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I feel like I've improved so much as a writer from my crappy beginnings to my...relatively good writing now :D

I can't believe it's over. Oh, I might actually be tearing up a bit cause I'm totally lame. Would you believe that when I first started writing I didn't have a clue or a plan in my head? It all just kind of came together as I went along...wow. This thing is probably the longest story I've ever written, and I've written a two hundred page novel! 

I don't know if I'll be doing a sequel, I'll admit I don't have one planned, but I'll still be working on PP and DD so it's not completely goodbye to Tom and Harry yet. Who knows, maybe I'll even try something completely different...I can confirm that I will be doing an AU oneshot for DD of what would happen if Tom's plan had worked, or Harry's. So who knows, if some of you are interested in reading that..."

Wow.   
Goodbye Fate's Favourite. I have loved you deeply. 

PS: It would be utterly awesome if everyone who read this and enjoyed it (why would you be on the last chapter if you   
hated it?) would send a review, be it even a =) or I liked it. That would just be brilliant.

I'll see you around,

Fictionist out! x


	151. Updated AN sorry!

So, my book has been published recently. Yay! :D I'm so happy! It's called Blood Lines.

**Blurb for Blood Lines:**

_In a world ruled by Underworld Variations, being human, an Overworld Variation, is not a good thing._

_Fifteen year old Susannah Skelsby knows this intimately. In a city of magic, torn and devastated by gang warfare and the seething undertones of civil upheaval and oppression, the best survival tactic is to keep her head down._

_Resistance is not tolerated, the Declarations are absolute, and the punishment for disobedience is death._

_She should have known better than to start breaking all the rules._

PS: It's a fantasy.

* * *

These are some links, if you're interested in buying it:

. /Blood-Lines-1-Simone-King/dp/1479242918/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1348944401&sr=8-1

Blood-Lines-Volume-Simone-King/dp/1479242918/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1348944550&sr=8-1&keywords=bloodlinessimoneking

. /Blood-Lines-Chronicles-Reflection-ebook/dp/B009JHCUVC/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1349014129&sr=1-2#_

Bottom one is kindle. You can also get it on Amazon Europe. :) Just type in "Blood Lines Simone King"

* * *

Feel free to PM me if you have any questions :)


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